


A Saga to Forget

by lcdsra



Category: Original Work
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Enemies to Friends, F/F, Fictional politics, Friendship, Gen, When the warnings become relevant I will warn, otherwise it's about
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 09:07:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29204850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lcdsra/pseuds/lcdsra
Summary: Saga/ˈsäɡə/noun1. a long, involved story, account, or series of incidents.Or: How Saga, Princess of Oftola, the youngest born and least likely to inherit the throne, became the Queen.
Relationships: Saga/Primavera, Saga/Veda





	1. The Announcement

**Author's Note:**

> This work is vaguely based off a world established in a previous story of mine (15:00 in 'Around the Clock Prompts') but it's not necessary to read. Oftola is a fictional country and so are its rules (some of them). I've already written the entirety of this story, but I had to break it up because it was getting too long to edit.
> 
> This first chapter is violence/death free but a lot of the story deals with people in arranged marriages, so if that's not your jam, this fic isn't for you. Also, as with all my stories, I don't necessarily agree with the actions of my characters nor condone them in real life.

_The moment the crown was placed upon her head, a wave of guilt and doubt washed over her. Was it everything she wanted? Obviously the crown was made of gold and embedded with gems worth more than entire people, but did she want it? The bid to become Crown Princess took years to officiate, for it to be acknowledged over her brother, the effort of everyone she had spoken to and still stood by her. Now was not the time to feel doubt and fear._

_She looked up slowly, not at the Minister, nor the Archbishop, but to the throne awaiting her. Theoretically, Saga left her home, married out of necessity, forged connections then broke them, lived while her sister died, commanded an army to victory and lost a war. But that would all be forgotten, the tears she shed, the laughter she shared, the women she loved._

_Because she would be Queen._

: : :

Her Royal Highness, Princess Saga Lyles of Oftola, fourth born, never set to inherit the throne, woke with the sun. When the soft rays of sunlight crept through the luscious curtains, sliding silently across the floor, her eyes opened.

Today, Saga let herself stay in the dark for a little longer. The body against her was a welcome presence. The Lady she called her significant other was the daughter of an important diplomat from the Kingdom Balana, and that was how they met. They were both easily forgotten, easily ignored, and Saga would not change a thing.

She sighed out loud and forced herself out of the realm of dreams to the world around her. The walls of Balanish buildings were often a rich wood with gold accents, tall, regal archways dotted everywhere. The beds were always adorned with the softest of blankets made from the finest of silks and wools.

In Central Jiruu, Balana stood out, as they specialized in fineries, in grand architecture, and it showed. Saga propped herself up on her elbow to look at the person sleeping next to her. Lady Veda was fair with dark hair that fell in waves over her bare shoulder, a mischievous smile often on her lips or seconds away.

But in her sleep, her face was slack, her mouth slightly open, gentle, quiet, undisturbed. The light hadn’t reached her yet, she was like Saga by rising with the sun, and she was glad for it. The moments after joy and laughter and pleasure, the minutes they’d steal, were her favorite.

Only a few minutes later, though, the sun rose, and Veda’s eyelashes fluttered open. A flicker of recognition, a small smile in acknowledgment.

“Good morning,” Saga whispered against her ear, brushing away hair from her face.

Veda stretched her arms forward, sighing lightly. “Good morning. Leaving so soon?”

“Unfortunately, I must make a speech to some opening.” It wasn’t important enough to care about, but it certainly required most of her day. “But I’ll see you tonight?”

Veda tilted her head, her signature grin crossing her lips. “Of course. Yours or mine?”

“How about mine?” She replied, leaning in for a kiss. “To mix things up.” Veda silently replied by meeting her midway between them, then rolling over again, perhaps to get a few more minutes of sleep.

Saga reluctantly left the warmth of the bed and dressed. She had a collection of commoner clothing stashed in a dark oak dresser in Veda’s room, which was big enough to accommodate that and more.

A simple dark cloak, trousers, and a blouse with heeled boots let her move with ease. Skirts were often too long and would drag in the dirt, rising suspicion. They had learned that the hard way when they first started their midnight affairs.

By now, though, they were well-practiced. Saga nodded to the staff who knew and liked her and passively glanced at those who didn’t. They might not like how she waltzed the halls like she owned them, or how easily she slipped into Saga’s life, but by now they had to learn to live with her.

Most of the roads between their Kingdoms were bare of people at this time, a reason she tried to leave at dawn. The horse she boarded at a nearby stable was already ready for her when she strode up to the stable boy and gave her pseudonym ‘Vedis.’

She mounted her horse with ease, waving farewell and glancing only once back to Balana. Their Kingdoms shared a large border that was divided by a large stream. The castle cast heavy shadows as the sun continued its journey over the horizon.

Saga pushed the desire to stay to the back of her mind as she directed her horse to gallop. The wind pushed the cloak’s hood down, the cold morning air kissing her face like a goodbye. Landscapes of tiny wooden houses dotting forests, large swaths of farmland rushed by as her horse pushed forward, faster.

The border patrol did not stop her. Saga noted, as she passed, there were none as her horse crossed the wide wooden bridge and they left the relatively deforested area of Balana to the heavily wooded edges of Oftola. The entire route was familiar to her, having ridden the same path for nearly a year back and forth. Though it took a while, it was always worth it.

: : :

Though her helpers hummed and hawed at the state of her body, sweaty from the horse (among other things), hair tangled and with sticks in it, they did not mention it nor ask why. They had simply questioned the horse and nothing more. It was as simple as running a comb through her tangled locks, bathing, then brushing her hair again. With a new dress, the substitute outfit safely carried away to be washed, any trace of Veda was gone from her body.

Accompanied by a guard, she strode gracefully down the long hallways of the castle. Oftolian building standards were along the lines of majority wood with reinforced stone bases, but the castle had touches of gold embedded in the stone. The palace was also influenced by Balanish architecture, large archways that lead to hallways with small windows that shed light across the floors.

Smatterings of conversations entertained her as she did her daily routine of walking aimlessly around the castle. Which high noble missed the dress code for a ball and stood out like a horse in a tree, which marriage was arranged to strengthen ties. Idle gossip was important when the time came for her to dominate social environments that she sometimes found herself in. She had never been interested in politics and war but found a place in elite social gatherings.

A pair of soldiers quickly hushed up as she approached, though she caught, “Border guards lost their horses last night and they might have been stolen.”

They were of no concern. Until, when she turned a corner and left her guard at the archway, she noticed a slightly ajar door. The rooms in this hallway were often used as war planning, thus why the guard was not allowed past. But as Princess, she had a right to everything her parents owned.

“-Rivir pushed back our armies, and inflicted heavy damage.” Someone pointed out in concerned tones. Most likely a diplomat or a politician or a war officer. “The Queen’s tactics are cruel and unjust.”

“Do we know of their casualties?” Another asked, a little further away from the door.

“Our soldiers didn’t even see anyone. They struck at night.”

“Dishonorable tactics.” Another hissed out.

She knew she shouldn’t have stayed. It was unladylike of her to spy so blatantly, illogical since it was on something she had no interest in, but still. Curiosity piqued, she stayed.

“This path runs along many farms. If we can raid them, they may starve.” A table was barely visible through the cracked door. A few people were hunched over it, one further away looking out the window.

“Funua Rivir has a strong fishing economy, though.” Another pointed out. “And they have an ally in Relaos, I doubt they’ll starve.”

Funua Rivir was a Kingdom that mainly ran along the oceans, and where some of the best seafood dishes came from. She had met their ruler, awhile ago, before the King died with only a 14-year-old daughter to claim the throne. Relaos was a Kingdom further North, nestled into the mountains and notoriously difficult to traverse. Saga never cared to think about their alliances before.

“We have Balana.”

“Who craft fineries.” The one staring out the window turned around, arms crossed. “Relaos has a strong, loyal army. We need an ally like that.”

“How about Rirkey?”

“What about them?”

“They have economic competition with Funua Rivir, and they want to expand too. We could use that.”

“An alliance.”

Now the talk was getting boring, so she pulled away and left the hallway, summoning her bodyguard to her side. She routed a path to the gardens, to take her mind off of whatever silly war they were in again.

: : :

The speech she gave was for the opening of a theater. Theoretically, she had sponsored its building and it was in her name. _The Saga Theater_ was a majesty, with marble columns that set it apart from the other towering buildings. It happened late in the day, right after most people’s lunch breaks, a small crowd gathered to listen.

“I thank you all for coming to this opening of this magnificent theater.” Saga spoke out, her voice raised slightly in pitch, the pacing slowed down, and her mouth pinched as she pronounced each syllable. “Theater and the arts have always been important to me and my family,”

The rest of the speech flowed like water. “The opening of this theater lets everybody in this fine Kingdom experience something I wish everyone on this planet may. The youngest performers will experience a stage and the creators will have a place for their stories. This building is the beginning of a new golden era of the performing arts.”

Saga didn’t know, of course, if these things were true. The paper she read from was proof-read over and over. It was written to be encouraging, framing the opening of the theater for everyone, and not a statement to the other Kingdoms.

They were doing well enough during a war that they could afford to use metal as support columns.

Saga, admittedly, had not figured out the link between buildings and politics herself. Her oldest sister, Sophia, was much more invested in the political show. She had pointed out that the buildings celebrated were always extravagant and not made to aid a war effort. Buildings that were unnecessary or built with precious resources stated that the Kingdom was doing well, flourishing, even.

Saga finished up her speech with her sister’s words in her thoughts. “With this building, this theater, the joy it will bring will be grand.” She hadn’t even remembered getting to that line, but her paper was empty of further sentences. The audience applauded politely, and she stepped away from the theater. She was required to stay for the next speech, applaud with the others when the ribbon was finally cut, and then she may leave. A day that started with a thrilling horse ride, then full of doing nothing, and finally ending in pleasure, seemed about right.

She resisted wanting to make her day more exciting, trading in her daylight hours for an interesting night. It was how she lived for a long time, even before she officially met her partner of choice. When she was younger, she would sneak out to watch the meteor shower, and a few years ago, she managed to convince a stable owner to teach her how to ride horses. It was never in protest of her life, she loved the dance lessons, the fashion, but there was more she wanted in the world.

Her status let her meet the, potentially, love of her life. They met years ago, during an annual party celebrating Oftola and Balana’s alliance. Veda was slightly younger than her but bolder. They snuck off to the gardens and finally got to know each other one night. After that, it had just clicked. Saga, generally serious, opened up, let herself laugh freely. Veda, well, she just liked having someone to talk to.

As they grew, over the years, their attraction changed. Though they were never out together, most people in their life recognized the nature of their relationship. It was a secret everyone knew except those who needed to.

: : :

Dinner was a simple affair, her parents weren’t present, so she sat at a large, sleek table alone. The meal was small, mainly vegetable and meat-based, with just a little bit of bread on the side.

She ate quickly, left before the staff got to check on her a third time, and went to a reserved guest suite. It was closest to a side door, guarded by two people who would alternate throughout the day and night. It was also, conveniently, never used by most people.

A familiar rapping of knuckles against her door caught her attention, and she pushed herself into a standing position to open the door.

“Did you miss me?” Veda asked in lieu of a greeting. She leaned against the open doorway, her teeth shining in the dying light.

“You know I always do.” Saga remarked, “Would you care to join me in having tea?”

The odd phrasing was purposeful, and Veda grinned slyly in response. “Of course.”

: : :

Her parents rarely called her together, much less in front of a court. She had been dragged out of the room, prepped, and cleaned in a formal dress that signaled to her that whatever it was was important.

She would be proven right only moments after she finished her formal greetings.

“Saga, my youngest, you are getting married next month. The Kingdom of Rirkey have offered an alliance.” Her father said. “They have but a daughter to offer. You are to marry her without complaint.”

She blinked, and it took all her training to keep her expression neutral and to stay silent. Her father continued, “Her Royal Highness, Princess Primavera Moreno of Rirkey will be arriving in a week’s time. This union of Kingdoms will be celebrated within the month.”

Saga felt upset. And relieved, almost. A little bit angry, if she were quite honest, because announcing that she would be forced into a marriage she didn’t want? As a political tool, no less. She had no say in it. She never had a say in anything, and suddenly, she wished she had the power to do something as simple as to choose.

She, logically, knew it would happen eventually. She just thought she’d have more time.

“They just sprung it on me!” Saga raged at Veda, pacing the room. She was quietly dismissed, a few people nodded at her in some twisted form of congratulations. As if she wanted it. “He doesn’t even know I like girls.”

Veda hummed in response, “Well, the fact that it is a same-sex marriage can be considered a good thing.”

“How is it any different?”

“You’re not expected to have children, so neither of you will have a human embodiment of obligation to each other.” Veda pointed out calmly. “You also have a chance at loving her, this Primavera.”

“I won’t ever love her.” She hissed in response.

The other lady tilted her head very slightly to the side, reminiscent of an animal listening to an unknown sound. “I guess you don’t have to.” She concluded. “You could make a friend?”

“I don’t need friends,” Saga sighed out loud, finally collapsing into a nearby chair. “I don’t want her.”

Veda inched closer, resting a hand on her arm. “We will be fine. Your obligation to her won’t be forever.” Until the war was over.

Saga nodded in agreement, and let Veda distract her. But the fear of change, of the impending sense of doom, followed her to sleep.


	2. The Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saga meets her bride-to-be and is not very impressed. Her sister, Sophia, gives advice.

Her bride’s name was Primavera, the only daughter of the King of Rirkey, and not set to inherit the title. Saga met her the week after her parents told her and she ran to Veda, who distracted her in any way possible (they even made a trip to the Saga Theater together).

She was set to meet her formally, in public. The engagement was not yet announced to the common folk, and Saga wondered if the Princess was just as nervous for her life to be ripped from her hands as she was. All her life, marriage was expected, but now, it didn’t feel real. A man dressed in, what she assumed, traditional Rirkian clothing, stepped out of the carriage first and held the door open.

And then she stepped out. And Saga had to do a double-take. Princess Primavera looked young, childish in mannerisms and appearances alike. Her greeting was clumsy. She was shorter than her, dark hair pulled away from her face, and her complexion was darker than her own.

“ _This is Her Royal Highness, Princess_ _Primavera of Rirkey._ ” The man who opened the door for her said, with a heavy Rirkian accent. His Oftolian wasn’t rough enough, the syllables rounded, almost. With those words, she curtsied.

“ _This is Her Royal Highness, Princess Saga of Oftola._ ” Her adviser introduced in likewise, heavily accented Rirkian. She knew little of the language, just enough for introductions. She curtsied as well.

Saga turned her attention to Princess Primavera once she rose. _“Do you speak Malecian, Princess Primavera.”_ Malecian was not associated with one Kingdom or land. It was commonly used during negotiations, and most royals were required to learn at least the basics of the language. Saga hadn’t had an opportunity to speak it much so she knew her accent was clear.

The girl looked startled briefly but smiled pleasantly. _“Of course, Princess Saga. Would you prefer it?”_ Her accent wasn’t as bad.

_“How old are you?”_

_“Turning 19 this fall.”_ Primavera replied. _“And you, if I may ask.”_

_“Turned 26 this winter.”_

Their men clearly looked uncomfortable, as neither of them had the authority to interrupt their conversation. Yet, her man spoke up and said, “Princess Saga, please,”

“Please what, Mister Verner? Please refrain from talking to my wife?” She snapped in Oftolian, the familiar language easy on the tongue. But the mere statement left a bitter taste. Her wife was a teenager, barely an adult, and there was nothing she could do.

The word _wife_ carried with it implications that did not work with the word _teen_. _Wife_ evoked images of, well, of Veda. They might have never written vows or traded rings, but they were as close as any married couple. _Teen_ and _wife_ actively clashed against each other in her mind, they could not exist at the same time when she looked at Princess Primavera. Some royals she knew had gotten past it, that dissonance between the words, and willingly took a wife or husband young.

She never thought she would be one of them. Saga silently gestured that she wished to leave. The men, the advisers, were the ones to exchange formal goodbyes.

: : :

The moment she was out of the public eye, she immediately went to the stables. Veda knew how to cheer her up, distract her until her moment of panic or fear faded. But she never made it. Her mother stood in the hallway that led to it, casually as ever, but her silent power was enough to stop her dead.

“Hello, my dear.” Her mother greeted passively, as if Saga entering from that door was a surprise. “Going somewhere?”

She forced herself to breathe before she answered. “I was. It will be quick.”

“Your future wife will be in need of an escort.” Her mother turned to her, slowly approaching. “Who better than her equal?”

The implications were clear. She was not to leave in any capacity, and her mother most definitely knew who she was looking for. “I won’t be gone long.” She tried, despite it.

“Of course.” Her mother did not budge, making it clear with her posture and expression that there would be no arguing, at least not in front of the guards and stable tenders.

So she turned and left. To her room, the only other place where she had complete control of the people and things. But of course, if her mother or father walked in, that room would no longer be hers.

Would she be expected to sleep with the girl every night? Would they be able to escape each other, have tastes of freedom from the constrictive lives they were forced into? Would she be allowed to see Veda again?

Saga didn’t know. She wished she was allowed to ask questions, but they were all loyal to the King and Queen Consort, not to _her_. She had never even considered making friends as a way to maintain power, had always had power given to her, bestowed upon her entrance. She never had to earn it.

She wanted to scream, but that was alarming, wasn’t it? She had never been held back by being the daughter of royalty, but now she felt the weight of all the expectations she never wanted.

: : :

The next day, her helpers rushed into her room, dragging her out of bed before she could even speak, washing, drying, then dressing her. The clothing was loose, a dress for a Princess, but not restrictive nor formal enough to indicate something of great importance.

“What is happening?” She questioned aloud.

One of the help glanced up from dusting her shoes. “You will be giving Princess Primavera a tour of the City of The Lyles, Your Highness.”

“Thank you,” She said quietly and looked out the window until they were done. She’d have to withstand an entire day with her supposed bride, out in public, and pretend to be happy with it.

Maybe if Princess Primavera was older it would’ve been tolerable, but she simply couldn’t shake the feeling of disgust that rose in her every time she looked at her.

: : :

There was never a time Saga felt socially awkward, until Princess Primavera. They sat as far apart as they could, crammed into the corners of the carriage. Small talk was difficult, though Princess Primavera had certainly tried. They were to eventually disembark and ride horses together through the town, and at least that would offer some type of excitement.

 _“What is that building?”_ Princess Primavera suddenly said, pointing out the small window.

Saga followed her line of sight and spotted the theater, and a grin nearly broke free of her facade. _“That’s the Saga Theater. It was opened just a week or so ago.”_

_“Will we ever go, Princess Saga?”_

“Yes,” she replied, without even thinking. “If we ever have time for a play.”

The conversation consisted mostly of Princess Primavera asking questions, and Saga responding in kind. _What is that shop? What does that word mean?_ They spoke in Malecian for the majority of the ride. Sometimes Saga did not have a word for what she wanted to describe, so she said it instead in Oftolian, as if that helped.

There were flickers of recognition in Princess Primavera’s eyes sometimes, but the majority of complex words drifted off silently, as she did not know how to explain them, and Princess Primavera did not know how to ask for more. It was an easy rhythm that she immediately abandoned when she spotted a familiar face. By then, they had left the carriage and were on their way to a horse stable in the square. It was there that she stopped to talk to Veda.

It was refreshing to talk in Oftolian, then sometimes switching to Balanish. The languages were fairly similar and came easy with a little practice.

“How is your wife?” Veda asked, in way of a greeting.

Saga approached, grinning. _“Not yet.”_ She said in Balanish. _“She’s odd.”_

Veda switched easily. _“Odd as in?”_

 _“Seems like she’s unsure of etiquette.”_ Saga replied. Princess Primavera’s title was Her Royal Highness, but she smiled with teeth and fidgeted in dresses and made a show of moving her hands. _“Curious, though.”_

 _“Teach her, make friends.”_ Veda advised.

Saga nodded, then glanced around her casually. There were people moving around them, but luckily, her future wife was distracted by some local produce. _“I wanted to see you again, last night. Mother refused me.”_

Veda smiled, a little sadly. _“Of course. You must keep up an image.”_

 _“I don’t want this,”_ she blurted out. _“I want_ you _.”_

 _“Soon, but not now. I promise I’ll wait.”_ She nodded, hesitantly. Veda smiled earnestly at her, reaching down to hold her hands. _“This won’t be the end of us. Now go back to your fiancée.”_

Reluctantly, she turned back. Princess Primavera was politely looking away, but it was clear she was listening. _“Princess Primavera, are you ready to carry on?”_ She asked in Malecian, as if stopping was her idea. It eased a sense of guilt inside of her.

She nodded silently, and they mounted their horses without a word. The guards around them dutifully kept in line with them, Saga leading, though Princess Primavera seemed adamant to keep pace with her.

It was only when they were well into the wooded areas surrounding the town, ready to turn back, when the other Princess asked, _“Who was the Lady you were talking to?”_

 _“A friend,”_ she replied shortly. _“She’s the daughter of a high noble from Balana.”_

She could feel Princess Primavera’s eyes on her, malicious, angry, even. Was she jealous? _“You seem to know each other well.”_

_“We do,”_

_“Very friendly,”_

_“As friends tend to be.”_

Saga heard, more than saw, Princess Primavera catch up to her. Her horse whinnied in protest at the sudden speed, and Saga jerked on the reins to force them to slow down. _“Do you have something to say, Princess Primavera?”_

Princess Primavera stared at her in an unladylike fashion. She was flushed, perhaps from the ride, or from rage. _“No,”_ she finally said, spitting it out like a curse in her native language.

Saga blinked a little. The Rirkian was a surprise, but the answer wasn’t. Most families of rulers, of Kingdoms were taught to never make a scene in public. Guards were sworn to secrecy and privacy, but commoners were not. _“Then I shall lead you back to the castle.”_ She said, finally, pulling on the reins in the right direction.

They stayed silent until they reached the castle stables. Saga dismounted with ease and strode forward to the entrance. She had to change clothing after rides that long, even if they were only keeping each other company.

Saga was immediately tended to, her dress replaced quickly with even more formal fittings. She suspected Princess Primavera was pulled aside as well, as she didn’t hear footsteps into the hallway.

 _“Is there a royal library, Princess Saga?”_ Princess Primavera inquired, the moment she left the changing room.

 _“Of course,”_ Saga had never been a fan of reading, most of the time books were dull pages of text she was required to get through for training, but if it meant moments of silence, she would be willing to pretend to like it. _“Follow my lead.”_

The moment they stepped foot onto the library, it was clear that Primavera found companions with books. Her eyes lit up, barely containing her excitement behind carefully crafted masks. But it was easy to spot, after all, her older sister Stella often had the same expressions in regards to texts.

 _“Would you like to find a book to read?”_ Saga offered, because for a moment, it was easy to forget about the impending wedding. Suddenly, Primavera was a child in an unfamiliar place, finding joy in the smallest of things.

Primavera smiled brightly, and entered the room slowly, taking in the imposing ceiling, the shelves of ancient and new leather-bound pages crammed together, sectioned off by the subject. _“This is lovely,”_ Primavera voiced in a hushed tone.

Instead of replying, Saga followed her inside, drifting to the fiction shelf. Before she met Veda, oftentimes books kept her company, and scanning the titles in front of her reminded her of that.

She was very young, perhaps 12 when she had last finished a book, and laid in bed for hours afterward. She would daydream about being whisked off to a world with lizards who could breathe fire, beautiful horses with horns that could create magic. There, she was free. She plucked a random book off the shelf and wandered to a small reading nook. The sun was creeping down over the horizons, the cushion she sat upon warmed from the afternoon light. The pages smelled of an ancient forest, of old wood decayed from time.

The first page was familiar. The careful scrawl of handwritten words told a story she must have heard or read before. She let herself, for a few moments, scan the pages and get engrossed in the story.

A quiet cough pulled her out of the story, right as she began on the second chapter.

“Princess Saga, your tutor has called for you.” A messenger said quietly, timidly.

She shut the book with a snap, carefully getting up from her perch. “Tell him I shall arrive in ten minutes. And,” she glanced across the library, where Primavera was watching them with interest, “entertain the Princess while I am gone.”

Without looking, she left the library and the book behind. She had no time for fiction, for long periods of time spent sitting in solitude. Perhaps Primavera, with her young age, had that luxury. But not her.

: : :

The next day, Primavera did not look her in the eyes. They toured the castle side by side, but she spent most of it looking out the windows.

What Saga didn’t understand was why. Was she upset that Saga left her in the library? Did the prospect of marriage finally hit her? She found herself oddly disturbed that Primavera wasn’t enjoying her stay, even though neither of them cared for each other nor the situation.

The next day was as quiet as the last. Saga had forced herself to stop analyzing every move Primavera made. She let her mind drift to the things she wanted to see, how she might sneak out once Primavera was gone, which horse was the quietest to take.

Once again, towards the end of the day, she was called upon by her tutor and Primavera was left alone.

The next day, their engagement was announced. Her sister, the Crown Princess of Oftola, had come from her own castle to visit in celebration.

At first, Saga assumed it was out of kindness, but when she finally met with Sophia in private, she revealed the true intentions.

“The people want to know that the next rulers are supportive of the current one.” She explained thoughtfully. “They don’t want a civil war between factions.”

“You would never. Not over something like this.”

“We know that, but Rirkey doesn’t.” Sophia replied. “Congratulations, by the way.”

“Thank you.” She had been saying that a lot recently. “I just met her.”

Sophia’s smile was small, “I’m not surprised. It’s a political marriage.”

“What significance does the marriage of two non-heirs even pose?” She asked, sighing. “Neither of us are going to rule at any point.”

“Intimidation, I think.” Sophia said. “Funua Rivir’s alliance with Relaos is scary, so if Oftola can prove it’s not alone, has multiple allies, it gives them a chance to win.”

“That seems convoluted.”

“It is. But it has worked before. Marriage alliances are particularly strong.”

“But why me?”

Sophia shrugged at that, as if she knew the answer but didn’t want to say it. “Perhaps they thought you the best negotiator.”

She frowned a little in response, leaning against a wall. “And Stella?”

“Sweet, but not the type our parents were evidently looking for.”

: : :

Once again, she was summoned to her parent’s audience. She was not averse to it, no one could admit such a thing in public, but she loathed the power they had, something she never would have herself.

Only her mother greeted her. She was carrying a mirror, and was dressed like she just woke up. “Saga.”

“Mother,” She replied, carefully. They were in private, which meant informal titles were typically allowed, but still.

“With your engagement comes a set of rules you now must adhere to. This marriage is of great importance.” Her mother casually examined herself in the mirror. “Your… courtship with Princess Veda is not to be pursued until the war is over.”

“Of course,” she had expected as much, but was disappointed nonetheless. Publicly, Veda would be called ‘the other woman’ but in reality, the one she had to marry was.

“The wedding will be in a month, here, in Oftola. The honeymoon will be in a colony of Rirkey.”

“Will I be responsible for planning the wedding?” She questioned.

Her mother finally looked up, “No. The wedding will be planned according to tradition by your Father and I. Rirkey’s diplomats will also contribute.”

Unsurprising, but nevertheless, disappointing. “Alright,”

“Dismissed. Remember what I said.”

Saga blinked at the abrupt end to their conversation, but turned automatically to leave. She hated her mother, suddenly, who did not understand that Veda was her life. She could be a poor commoner writhing in the dirt and she would be happy, as long as Veda was there with her.

But now that the engagement was public, she would be expected to be affectionate with Primavera in public. And that thought was disgusting.

: : :

The day came both slower and faster than she anticipated. Every time she considered her situation, the minutes dragged on like hours, and Veda wasn’t even allowed to visit and soothe her frustrations. She had to keep herself busy with reading, or sewing, or some other interest she hadn’t dabbled in for years.

On the bright side, however, her studies picked up. They were adjusted slightly and mostly went over how to act in public, with her wife and without. They also gave her a chance to come to grips with the idea of this teen being her wife. They didn’t have to fake passion, just fake politeness.

However, the wedding did bring interesting things as well. For an entire day, a group of people attended to her hair, styling it in different knots and updos. Various flowers were stuck in her hair, some of them were so large they hid the majority of her face.

They settled on a style that had her hair gathered at the base of her neck, some hair left to dang on her neck and shoulders. There were small flowers embedded in her hair, and soon, on the wedding day, a crown of leaves.

The dress fitting was also quite entertaining. Surprisingly, her parents agreed that she was to choose her own dress and did not have to claim her mother’s. The various dresses were beautiful, most were floor-length, though some did not drag. There was one with a long train that would most likely be carried by an attendant throughout the day.

She ultimately chose one that was held up with a band of lace. The rest was smooth silk with a skirt that was layered a bit with tulle to add shape.

Finally, the decorations. Though most were handled by her parents and Rirkey’s diplomats, she got to choose her bouquet of flowers. They had to match Primavera’s with some of the flowers and had to be mostly white, but she got to choose the use of lily of the valley. Lily of the valley wasn’t very popular at weddings, but she liked them. They were beautiful but deadly if handled incorrectly.

Eventually, she was given a band to wear on her left hand. It was a simple silver, with no writing engraved on the inside or gems embedded on the outside. She was told she would be given a gold wedding ring with a diamond on the day, and since Primavera’s tradition only involved one, they would trade one.

As was tradition, she was instructed to choose only one or two maids of honor. She naturally chose Veda. Anyone who knew them would not be surprised, but those who really knew them surely would be.

Despite the time fluctuations, the wedding day came surprisingly fast. She woke up early, took a bath, her body scrubbed down to rid any dead skin, perfume applied before the dress and hair were even taken out.

Her attendants tugged and styled her hair, flowers inserted in the process. Jewelry applied to her ears and hair, then the bridal crown of leaves. Then, the clothing.

She was left alone for the underwear, the protective socks under prettier stockings, and then her supportive corset. Her attendants helped with the dress, and as the day went on, they chatted amongst themselves in excitement. It was a public wedding, and most, if not all, castle employees were extended an invitation.

She was not excited, but at least some people were.

: : :

The wedding reception was as extravagant, familiar, and oh so blinding at the same time. The light was blinding, the smiles and laughter, and seeing _Veda_ , she was rushed with a wave of emotion that she didn’t expect.

Saga didn’t even love the woman walking with her down the aisle to be married, yet somehow she felt happy. Vows were exchanged (in the highest of highs, lowest of lows, I will stay by your side), then rings. Hers was from Rirkey, and she noted the one she gave away was from her own family. The wedding was symbolic, just as everything else between them was.

The speeches were, predictably, long. Saga could see Primavera getting restless, fidgeting in her spot. Only at dinner, when faking smiles and laughter got boring, did she steal a glance at her wife.

Primavera looked like a child playing dress-up despite being an adult, and the thought was sobering. The dress was not fitted for her small frame, at least very well. The makeup made her look much older than Saga knew she looked otherwise, and her smile, as always, was childish.

Saga sipped her drink thoughtfully, letting her gaze roam. They settled on Veda.

Veda wasn’t allowed to see her for the entire month since the engagement. Any interaction was deemed suspicious, according to Sophia, so they were purposefully barred from seeing each other. Especially the people who knew about them, she had to prove that any relationship with Veda was over, or at the very least, on the level of friendship.

But seeing Veda was like a breath of fresh air. Even though she continuously glanced at Veda while they exchanged vows, it was something else to watch her laugh. Veda was beautiful, as always, but her smile was something else.

Saga forced her gaze away, when someone to her right called for another speech.

: : :

Saga left repeatedly during the after-party. After the first dance, she went to the alcohol table almost immediately and drank it down. Veda wasn’t in her sights, unfortunately, so she had to settle for second best.

The rings felt heavy on her hand, somehow. Though they were built to be as lightweight and pretty as possible, somehow their existence was unpleasant at best.

A reminder that she was with Primavera for the time being, if not forever. Sure, divorces of married couples happened, and it certainly wasn’t taboo, but there was an expectation of royals. Especially those from separate places.

She was bound to Primavera forever.

With that thought, she drank another flute of champagne.

“I see you’ve found a companion.” A familiar voice remarked to her left.

She whirled to face them. “Veda?”

The other woman grinned, raising her almost empty glass in way of a greeting. “How’re you holding up?”

She sighed. “It’s been rough. I don’t like not seeing you.”

Veda’s eyes softened, if barely. “Me too.” She sipped the rest of the alcohol in her glass, “I can drink to that.”

She laughed. Saga laughed, like there was no tomorrow, like it was just them. Her voice was drowned out by everyone else’s, invisible and impossible to distinguish. “I’ve missed you so much.”

Veda set down her glass, and Saga followed suit. “Let’s catch up somewhere else, shall we?”

She grinned. “Of course.”

They ended up in a bathroom. It suited their needs just fine. Veda slipped out first to say goodbye, and Saga took her time. She washed her hands, checked her hair in the mirror, then came out. She almost immediately came face to face with Primavera, who looked flushed.

“Hello.” Saga greeted cautiously.

“Hi,”

“What happened?”

 _“When you left, a lot of people came up to kiss me?”_ She trailed off, unsure. _“Is that normal?”_

It clicked. _“That’s a tradition, actually. When the bride or groom, or in this case other bride, leave, people may kiss the other.”_

_“Oh.”_

Now Saga shifted awkwardly, rolling her ankle slightly. Then, it occurred to her. _“Did you understand my Oftolian?”_

Primavera blinked in surprise. _“I did. I can’t speak Oftolian, just some basic greetings.”_

“Interesting.” She said, mostly to herself, but Primavera shrugged in response, in the most ladylike way possible. _“Do you understand any other languages?”_

She flushed even deeper, though perhaps from pride. _“Yes. I also know Ceantish, along with Malecian, Rirkian, Rivinese, and Oftolian.”_

_“Impressive.”_

_“I have a lot of free time.”_

Saga was not monolingual, of course, she and Veda exchanged conversations enough that both had picked up on each other’s languages, and Malecian was required by most to learn anyway, but still. She rarely had the patience to learn languages she didn’t use weekly. “I can teach you how to speak Oftolian.” She said.

Primavera smiled shyly in response. _“Thank you.”_

She drifted off again, once Primavera became preoccupied. She chatted with important people, ate, and drank as she pleased. It was _her_ day, even if it was all orchestrated by her parents and a desire for political power.

Eventually, she was tipsy enough that she did not realize what was wrong with Veda leading her away. She was not aware that her mother looked on with disappointment and frustration, nor did she see the confusion on Primavera’s face when she was left to sleep alone.

She learned about it fairly quickly, when she woke up.

“How dare you leave your wife alone on you wedding day?!” Her father demanded, voice booming. “How dare you sleep with another woman?!”

“Fa-“

“No, do you not understand how important this marriage is?!” He snarled, leaning forward. “That thousands could die just for some little affair?”

“That’s-“

“You’re called to take responsibility once, to sacrifice once, and you cannot pull yourself together? Have you thought of anyone but yourself? I thought I taught you better,” he shook his head as if her actions were his failures too. “I am ashamed to call you my daughter.”

That. Stung more than it should have. She didn’t even know her father, he didn’t care about her life at all until she did something for him. But those words hurt. Her sisters and brother were proud talking points during family dinners, but her?

She was no one. She was easy to forget, until she became the mistake.

She was dismissed quietly. She did not go to visit Veda, nor her dreaded wife.

: : :

She did not leave her room for the rest of the day. It was, perhaps, dramatic of her to refuse to show her face after such a lashing, but it was better than reminding everyone what a failure she was.

Why hadn’t she just pretended to love Primavera? Why hadn’t she managed to do such a simple task as putting the lives of her people before herself? Wasn’t that what she was always meant to do?

Being a Princess was not supposed to be all luxury. In fact, wealth and power were exchanged for personal sacrifice, for protecting her people in any way she could.

Primavera held up her end of the bargain, had smiled when they exchanged vows, had found a place in foreign lands with only a reluctant wife to look to.

But she had not. She wasn’t even sure why her father’s words messed with her so much. Perhaps it was the setting, public, or as public as a scolding could get. His tone, perhaps, in that it was somehow disappointed, furious, and fearful all at once.

Or, most likely, it was the last words he spat at her that triggered her current state of being. He was not one for praise, but each of his siblings, when confronted with sacrifice or failure or success had been met with nothing but it.

See how ambitious Sophia is. See how studious Stella is. See how brave Samual is.

See what a disappointment Saga is, see what a failure Saga is, see how uncaring Saga is.

A knock at her door alerted her out of her wallowing. She quickly washed her face with water, but it didn’t help. If anything, the water got into her eyes, highlighting their redness from sobbing into her pillow between fits of rage.

“Come in!” She yelled, her voice shaky at best as she wiped her face dry.

The door did not seem to open. For a brief second, she wanted to scream at them to leave her alone, or to just open the damn door, or something, but finally, she heard the door click.

She was not expecting to see Sophia.

“Saga,”

“Go away.” The last thing she needed was a lecture from Sophia, about how good she had it, how her father expected so little of her. “I don’t want your consolation.”

“Did I ever tell you about the time I interrupted a war meeting?” She asked abruptly, sitting down in a chair that survived her fit.

“No.” Sophia had always been perfect, the stories where Sophia was the one at fault never retold.

“I thought I understood the situation a lot more than anyone else. I interrupted a General and declared my war winning strategy.” Sophia nodded, her hands accompanying her story. “Needless to say, the ideas of a ten year old was not what the battle needed. And Father, well, he was so mad.”

“What did he do?”

“He scolded me in front of the entire higher ranking members of the military.” She replied bluntly. “He called me immature, a failure, an embarrassment,” she paused to make sure Saga was still listening, “and sent me outside of the room. I was banned from war rooms until I married.”

Saga held back a laugh, because it was rude and it would come out choked. “Years.”

Sophia nodded solemnly. “Years. But, as you might know, I am a top General myself, and I am allowed in all of the war rooms Oftola has to offer.”

While that was all good, she wasn’t entirely sure how that was supposed to make her feel better. “Okay, but?”

“But you, Saga, your life does not end after Father calls you an embarrassment. Everyone has been called that, that’s part of growing up.”

“I’m not a child.” She huffed, curling into herself.

“You’ve never had to be an adult before, though.” Sophia pointed out. “And even adults make mistakes. Stella, just the other day, dropped two or three books in a river while on horseback. She’s 31.”

“This—mistake, though, could cost lives.”

“It will take more than that for Rirkey to break their part of the treaty. They need our help more than we need theirs. Sure, we benefit, but they wouldn’t dare pull out now. Not over something like this.”

But did she understand what she did? That Saga chose the worst moment to show that she was independent by sleeping with her friend on her wedding night? “Do you love your husband?” She asked.

Sophia did not hesitate to answer, “Yes. But,” she paused, then. “You do not love your wife.”

“I don’t. I don’t think I ever will.”

“You do not get to choose who your heart wants. I am lucky mine was respectable enough that there were no issues.”

Saga looked out a window instead of facing Sophia’s eyes. She was feeling better, certainly, but something was keeping her from moving on. “Do you think Father will forgive me?”

“Yes.” Sophia nodded. “Yes, he will. His words are his weapons, and he knows how to turn it against his allies when need be. But that does not mean he will not forgive. And,” she chose her next words carefully, even Saga could see that, “he loves you, in his own way.”

“I doubt that somehow.” But she didn’t. It wasn’t the kind of love a parent should have for their child, more similar to that of a child and a toy. But still. Sophia seemed to understand, having experienced it herself.

Sophia sat for a second longer, a flash of uncertainty (though Saga wouldn’t put it past her to have faked that) then she smiled and left.

To say a weight was lifted off her shoulders, suddenly, was an understatement. She almost felt brave enough to see Primavera.

Almost.


	3. The Honeymoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saga goes on a honeymoon and finds herself somewhat surprised.

A helper told her she was going off on her honeymoon that morning. She had woken up tired and with a headache and barely even remembered the two rings on her ring finger.

Her clothing and items were packed over the night, evidently, as she went to sleep with her room a mess, and woke up to neatly ordered bags. She was made to look presentable but given comfortable clothing, which meant she was going by carriage instead of horseback.

“Where did my parents mention that we are going?” She asked casually, as a guard escorted her down to the ground floor.

“An island off the shore of Rirkey, Your Highness,” He replied gruffly. She should’ve remembered that. She bit her lip in frustration.

They didn’t speak any further. She entered the awaiting carriage first, noting that several others were empty of people, but not of bags. Eventually, Primavera joined her.

She was awkward, like when they first met but didn’t attempt small talk. The pain of her father lashing out at her was still fresh, so she glanced out the small window as they began to move to distract herself.

A few times, Primavera attempted to engage with her. First, in Malecian, then, more desperately, in Oftolian, and finally, in what she assumed was Rirkian. She mostly seemed to speak to herself when she switched to that language, as if purposefully not including her made it better that she was being ignored.

Saga did not mean to let her lingering frustration out on her, but it was too easy. If Primavera hadn’t come into her life, none of her current struggles would have happened.

: : :

The trip took two days by carriage, and an hour by boat. The island was visible from the shoreline and from her vantage point, didn’t look very big. The building on the island had one large bedroom and a few smaller ones on the other side.

The bed appeared small in the large bedroom. The windows were large in most of the rooms with thin curtains that seemed more for show than usage. There was no issue of privacy since there were no other people besides those sworn to privacy. Ordering food was restricted between a certain time frame, as cooks would only travel to the island at those times.

It was extravagant and expensive for a marriage that did not involve love.

They had arrived in the evening, and admittedly, Saga did not even try to engage with Primavera. Their conversations during travel were short, clipped, or ignored altogether.

She instructed her items to be put in one of the smaller rooms, away from Primavera. The implication was clear.

The first night they were both too tired to talk, but the next morning, it was time to face her wife.

She was awake first, but it felt wrong, somehow. The bed was in a different position in relation to the sun than her bed, which made her wake up too early. She was tired, the island was hot and she was sweaty and felt dirty.

Saga changed into the lightest clothing she could find and left the room. Of course Primavera wasn’t awake yet. She was not a morning person, Saga would wager, and with no expectations, she would steal the chance to sleep in.

She spent the time alone exploring the building, mostly. She swam in some of the waters (that had been checked thoroughly for creatures) to cool off, and by the time she got hungry enough to want to leave the refreshing water, Primavera was awake.

Saga gave the girl a wide girth of space, summoning someone to take her order. She did not notice the girl was staring at her until she spoke.

_“Why are you like that?”_

Saga was surprising at the abrupt, furious tone her fiancée, now wife took on. She had always been shy and passive, yet glancing at her now was odd. “Like what, my dear?” The pet name dripped with sarcasm, and she turned to look at her.

_“Like,”_ she huffed, frustrated, and she could see her losing steam and confidence. _“Like you would rather die than interact with me.”_

“I don’t like interacting with children.” She did not bother to switch languages.

_“I am not a child!”_ And Saga was reminded of herself.

“18 is very different than 26.” She said cooly. “I do not like being reminded who I was forced to marry when,” she stopped herself. When what? When she loved someone?

Primavera stared hard at her, breathing fast. _“You love her.”_ It was a statement, not a question.

“Listen, it’s nothing personal,” she started, ready to defend herself. She knew Veda before her, Veda was closer in age, there were so many reasons why Veda worked and Primavera didn’t.

But Primavera shook her head. _“I love someone else, too.”_

_Oh_. That wasn’t what she expected. The girl had seemed so adamant to make a connection, she had assumed it was romantic but maybe it wasn’t. “Oh.” She voiced. “Who?”

_“A stable boy.”_ She responded, smiling a little. _“I could never,”_ she glanced at her hand. _“With him, but still.”_

“You don’t get to decide who your heart wants.” The sappy words were not her own, but they were right for the situation. _“I understand.”_ Saga had not studied Rirkian at all, but she had heard Primavera speak those words before, during the tour. The pronunciation was not perfect, but Primavera understood them.

It was the first time she spoke Rirkian for her. It almost makes her want to ask for lessons, or at least learn the basics of her language, when she saw how Primavera’s face lit up.

They sat in silence again. Saga felt an ease wash over her in an unexpected way. The unsaid weight of Primavera’s emotions and thoughts was gone after the confession, and though she still stood by the fact that Primavera was a child, she found a companion instead of an enemy of her.

_“Were you swimming?”_ Primavera asked, suddenly.

She glanced up from her food, taking a moment to swallow. _“Yes, there’s many rivers and lakes in Oftola.”_ She could’ve let it go, and let them fall into silence again. But she felt compelled to ask, _“Do you like to swim?”_

_“Rirkey has a lot of ocean and some of the beaches are nice to swim in.”_ She replied. _“I’ve been to this island as well.”_

That was surprising, even though she knew it shouldn’t have been. _“Oh? Is there a lake or beach you prefer here?”_

_“There is. Would you like to set off for it?”_

_“Perhaps not today.”_ She said, hurried. She appreciated her enthusiasm. _“Do you have a favorite subject to study?”_

_“Government, and history.”_ Primavera perked up a little as if she were excited to talk about it. _“Language studies is also my favorite. And you?”_

_“Social etiquette,”_ she replied, _“it comes easy for me. History, though, that doesn’t.”_

_“It’s fun, once you understand the basics,”_ Primavera grinned at her, _“multiple things build up to something else, and any slight change could have changed everything.”_

She raised a brow and looked at her skeptically. _“All I see is a vast blanket of dates.”_

_“The dates are only really important to link things together. They don’t have to be the focus, at least in my experience.”_

Saga hummed in response. _“I think you’d like my sister Stella. She likes to read and study various things too.”_

_“You’d like my brother, I think.”_

_“Why is that?”_

_“He’s good at playing the room.”_ She replied. _“I’ve never understood how to do it, but I think you would know. And enjoy it.”_

She smiled. _“I’m sure I would.”_ She glanced outdoors again, and found the sun high in the sky. The air was humid as well, suffocatingly hot and wet in her lungs. It felt like this island was suspended from time, the sun hanging in the sky far too long.

: : :

_“Do you know why we were married?”_

Saga did. She did not like to be reminded, though. _“Yes.”_

_“I think it’s odd that the alliance was sealed with a marriage.”_

_“I think it’s odd that you want to talk about it.”_

They did not discuss politics again.

: : :

On the third day, they finally made their trip to the lake. It was fairly far away, and though they left at noon (with some guards to carry food) it wasn’t until the sun was already casting shadows to their left.

The lake was small, more like a pond. A small stream of water from some larger lake above dripped into the small bowl. What was interesting about it, though, was how the water trickled in.

The cliff above them, where the water flowed, suspended over most of the pond, shading it from the light. Beautiful water flowers that bloomed in the dark were clustered only where the shadows remained during the entire day.

_“The water is usually clean. I think the shade helps control any growth.”_ Primavera voiced next to her, testing the water. _“Want to swim?”_

_“Just a dip.”_ She replied. She hiked up her skirts to her waist and tested the water. _“Cold.”_

_“Refreshing.”_ Primavera corrected, already undressed down to her undergarments. _“The middle is surprisingly deep.”_

_“Has it been checked yet?”_

She hesitated at the water’s edge. _“No, I don’t think so.”_

_“Be careful.”_ She warned, even though she didn’t need to, even though she didn’t care.

Primavera _was_ careful, even though she sighed dramatically and assured her she knew what she was doing, that the deep parts weren’t very wide, that she could swim to the other side of the pond without help. Saga had watched on like an unsure parent, ready to jump in should their child extend themselves too far.

But that was a strange thought, so Saga had banished it immediately. Primavera lead the way back to the little house, her steps sure and easy. Saga stumbled blindly after her. They stayed long enough that a good part of their trip was after the sun slipped below the horizons, and she did not know the island well enough to know when to step and how.

Without even thinking, Saga followed Primavera into her room. The girl looked surprised, just as Saga’s mind caught up to her body. _“Oh, I’m sorry.”_

_“It’s fine.”_ Primavera assured. _“It doesn’t have to mean anything.”_

_“No, I violated your privacy.”_ She was already backing up. No, she did not want to sleep next to her. _“I’ll go.”_

_“You can it you want. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”_ Primavera repeated, but made no move to stop her.

She shook her head and said, _“Not tonight.”_

: : :

Perhaps if they stayed a night longer, Saga would have taken up Primavera’s offer. The nights were cold sometimes, and it was lonely sleeping so far away.

But the next day, a boat of helpers came and packed up everything that was brought with them. They were fed quickly, and then whisked back to the boat to go home. There was an ache in her chest as she watched the island disappear from view. She was surprised by it, because leaving the island signaled that things were going back to the way they were. Primavera would most likely go back to Rirkey, and Saga could figure out a new way to sneak out and visit Veda.

So why did it feel like she was losing something?

Primavera tried to talk to her, first in Malecian, then in Oftolian, and finally, more to herself, Rirkian. She muttered under her breath in a furious tone, and Saga did not need to understand the language to understand the meaning.

But she didn’t care. The feelings that Primavera brought up were complicated and frustrating, and she wished everything would just go away.

Maybe it was better to leave it all behind, to let the memories rest on that small colony of hers.

: : :

“So,” Veda gently placed the small teacup on a saucer and smiled. Veda was coincidentally visiting Oftola by the time she got back, and invited her to tea with her. “How was your honeymoon?”

She took a moment to sip some tea herself. It was watery and too hot. She should have let it sit for a little longer. “It was not bad.” She replied. “There was a nice pond on the island.”

“Perhaps there was more?”

She wanted to glare, “No. nothing more.”

“You seem different.”

Saga’s left hand twitched slightly, as if to hide the rings. “Oh?”

Veda leaned forward slightly, looking her in the eyes. They were all-knowing, even if they danced in mirth. “You’re quieter, and you have not complained about your marriage once, and you refuse to look me in the eyes for long periods of time.”

Saga’s eyes automatically flickered up, but slid away. “I swear, we didn’t sleep together, literally or figuratively.”

“But you enjoyed her company. She grew on you, didn’t she?”

“No!” She snapped immediately. “She does not matter.”

Veda took a sip as gently as she could. “Are you trying to convince me, or yourself?”

“You, because you do not seem to understand.” She hissed. She angrily drank her tea, the flavor bitter on her tongue like her words. They sat in silence, the tension palpable in the air. Neither made a move to release it, and Saga wished that Veda could just let it go and let it be forgotten.

Saga glanced at her cup and blew gently at the steam. She took a sugar cube and watched it dissolve in her tea.

“On the bright side,” Veda said, and she looked up and saw she was watching her thoughtfully. “We are allowed to see each other again. As friends.”

“Friends with benefits it is.” Saga nodded, and she grinned when Veda laughed at her quip. She sipped her tea again, and a flood of sweetness filled her senses.

: : :

The war wasn’t exactly easy to ignore, but it didn’t have to be in her thoughts every hour. Saga never saw a battlefield nor a war map, she did not normally associate with Generals and war heroes, and Sophia had left the castle again. They never discussed politics, though Saga was vaguely aware that Veda was involved in some ways. She practiced her Malecian and brushed up on Rirkian. A month went by, and a routine was easy to settle into. It had felt that everything was going right the day it went wrong.

It was a normal day. She had woken up with the sun, stretched her tired limbs and was prepared by the time most of the staff were moving about the castle. She ate breakfast alone, not unusual, walked the castle grounds with her attendants, and studied with her tutors. She even had a chance to see Veda for a little while that night, should everything go right.

And then nothing went right.

Her attendants and guards interrupted her lessons in a hurry, ushering her out of the room and through the halls. People were rushing back and forth, horse hooves were galloping through the town surrounding the castle. Her parents were holding an emergency court meeting. She was shunted off to the side, in a hurried fashion that told her no one would be paying attention to her.

“The Crown Princess’s husband has been killed,” The King announced, his voice cold and hard. “Oftola is under attack by a foreign enemy we are currently waging war against and our priorities must shift with this new development.”

Saga was shocked. And concerned. But she kept her face a mask of impassive behavior and refused to think about it now. Sophia loved her husband, the only one of her siblings who got the chance to choose who she wanted to rule alongside her.

“My youngest daughter will be moved to safety, as will I and my wife. This is not a show of weakness, but one of necessity.”

What? Saga blinked at that. Why would she be moved? Samuel lived far away from the Relaos and Funua Rivir border that he could not be touched, and he was next in line, should Sophia and her children be killed.

And that could not happen, surely. Sophia was never on the battlefield, merely planned how troops would move. Her children were well protected, young, but the safest any human in Oftola could be.

“Today will be remembered as one of mourning for a fierce soldier, a kind husband, and an intelligent politician. Tomorrow, we will avenge him in blood.”

The steel in her father’s eyes was familiar. She had seen him give speeches to soldiers about to march off to fight for the rights to a river, pointless deaths that simply painted the grass a vibrant red. She had seen how the soldiers set their shoulders back, grim faces morphing into determination. She saw that now, the war generals, politicians, advisers, how they looked like they were willing to kill, to die, for him.

Was that what made someone fit to be the ruler, she wondered. Would she be able to convince people that their deaths were worth more than their life?

The moment her father ended the announcements, she was pulled aside by an adviser. “The King has requested you to leave Oftola immediately. Your bags are being packed and will be brought as soon as possible.”

“Where am I going?” She asked hurriedly, before he could scurry off into the halls. “Why am I leaving Oftola?”

“If I am to understand, my Princess, the Kingdom of Rirkey is where your wife lives.” The adviser blinked at her, as if confused. “You will be safer there. Now, let us make haste.”

She did not get to say no to the request. She was changed into traveling clothing quickly and placed on a horse. They did not have the time for a carriage, and she was experienced enough that it was a safer, quicker alternative.

Saga missed Veda before she even left the castle.


	4. The Trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saga explores what Rirkey has to offer.

It took a day and a half to reach Primavera’s castle. Her Kingdom’s architecture was fascinating, many arches dotted everything from the bridges to the lodges, and the windows were large and open, a contrast to how windows were often high up and small in Oftolian buildings.

The atmosphere was also hot. Though the sun had set a while ago, the heat lingered. Like on the island, the air was suffocating, the salt clinging to her sweat and her lungs were too full at each intake of breath. The horse was tired, as was she. They had stopped during the night, though only for a short while and certainly not enough time for the length of the trip.

_“Your Highness, we welcome you to our Kingdom,”_ An adviser greeted in Malecian, their accent barely noticeable, though parts of the words raised in unexpected ways.

_“Likewise, thank you for your hospitality.”_ Saga replied, _“Will my horse be taken care of?”_ It wasn’t her horse, in that she didn’t choose it nor train it, but she pitied the poor thing and its labored breathing.

_“Certainly, Your Highness. Princess Primavera will greet you in a few moments. Please, come inside.”_

Her adviser left with Rirkey’s, and she was left alone in the castle. Taking a moment to admire the architecture, she noted the ceiling was painted. Scenes of battle, swords flashing, horses panicking told in colors above her. She did not know Rirkey’s history. Perhaps Primavera would make an empty promise about teaching her about it.

_“Princess Saga?”_

She glanced down quickly, realizing that she was caught staring. _“Hello, Your Highness.”_

The girl did not look much different. She was dressed in a nightgown like she was hurried out of bed to greet her. _“Follow me, if you will, to your room.”_

Saga wordlessly complied, glancing around her. Everything felt big and looming like she was trapped but did not know it yet. The large windows loomed over her, the moon casting eery shadows around her, yet Primavera traversed with them easily like she was friends with them.

Of course she did, Saga realized. Was this how Primavera felt in her castle? Suffocated not by the air, but by the buildings, by the lack of light? She hadn’t even thought to ask.

_“Here it is, Princess Saga.”_ Primavera paused at the door of a room, _“There is a key to lock the door from the inside on the bedside table, extra blankets underneath the bed, and a bell to summon servants.”_

“Helpers.” Saga muttered in Oftolian, but Primavera caught it.

_“What?”_

_“We call them helpers.”_ With that, she entered the room. _“Thank you, Princess Primavera.”_

She slept fitfully, if at all. The insects were too loud in her ear, the sheets trapping heat against her to the point of discomfort, though they were paper-thin. The windows felt like the world’s eyes were on her, too wide and expansive to feel safe. She felt filthy, too dirty to be lying on a bed so soft, so well cared for.

And most of all, she felt out of place. She could hear people talking in what she assumed was Rirkian, and the sounds were unfamiliar. Oftolian was too harsh in the gentle flows of Primavera’s language. She must’ve fallen asleep despite her discomfort, because she woke up to bugs chirping in her ears.

When she got up for the day, she was tired. She had not slept much during the trip and when she arrived, it was fitful, and she made it clear she wished to be alone. However, that quickly grew boring.

Saga was a social creature, even if her circle must be limited, she at least knew where to find people to discuss things with. But here, she just knew Primavera.

Princess Primavera. That night made it clear they were back to formalities.

She changed into some of the provided clothing that her adviser managed to bring with them, since most of her items would come much later. It was light, the dress showing arms, legs, and chest. She had no one to do her hair up, so she forced herself to try a poor attempt to copy it. Her first attempt fell apart. The ribbon slipped out easily and onto the floor. The second attempt also failed, in that more of her hair was on her neck than in the ribbon. The third attempt was not bad but did not serve its purpose, so she roughly pulled the ribbon out and tried again.

That was how Primavera found her. The ribbon tugged uncomfortably at her hair when it was supposed to contain it, and getting it out after such failed attempts was difficult.

_“Do you need help?”_ She asked at the doorway, a brow raised.

Saga glanced over, “Oh thank you, _yes please. If you could call for a helper to do my hair so it does not touch my neck, that would be most amazing.”_

_“I believe I can help, Princess Saga.”_ Sage could almost hear Primavera smile as she spoke.

Her fingers carefully tugged the ribbon from the tangled hair and brushed through them with her fingers.

_“Have you never put up your own hair?”_ She asked as she worked the ribbon.

Saga grimaced at a partially hard tug. “ _No. It isn’t usually hot enough and if it was, my helpers would do it themselves.”_

Primavera didn’t reply, but she did not feel loose hairs on her neck and shoulders, and by the time Primavera stepped away, it felt much better. _“Thank you,”_ she said in careful Rirkian.

Primavera beamed, and said, _“Of course! If you want, we can visit the library?”_ She either knew the words were too complex in Rirkian for her to understand, or automatically stayed in Malecian.

_“Libraries are boring,”_ she said without thinking, and then immediately bit her tongue as if she could take it back with pain. Why did she say that? Primavera liked libraries, found comfort in them. Why would she _say that?_

Primavera’s expression flickered a bit in uncertainty. _“Oh, what is it you would prefer?”_

_“Explore the city, perhaps?”_ She suggested hurriedly, trying to think of something besides insulting Primavera’s favorite pastime.

_“I’m afraid I cannot leave the castle premises today.”_

She tilted her head. _“Oh?”_

_“We have an esteemed guest arriving today, and I must greet him.”_ She explained. _“We may go to the gardens, if that would be preferable?”_

_“Yes, if that is possible. Is it shaded?”_ If it wasn’t, then she would resign herself to boredom locked away from the harsh sun.

A quicksilver quirk of Primavera’s lips told her the statement was amusing, perhaps she did not share her dislike of the humidity of her Kingdom. Naturally. _“Parts of it. Do not fret, the sun will not touch you for long.”_

For some reason Saga doubted her, but let herself be lead away.

: : :

The shade did not help. It was early morning when they entered the gardens, and the temperature was cool against her skin, but it rose quickly with the sun. By mid-afternoon, Saga swore she had sweat at least half her body weight.

_“How do you stand this?”_ Saga asked, half-impressed and half-exasperated. They were sitting on a wooden bench under overhanging tree branches, yet the sun still slipped through the leaves and burned into her skull through her hair. It made her feel itchy and uncomfortable.

_“I don’t really notice it.”_ Primavera replied airily. _“It’s something to get used to, certainly, but it’s not bad.”_

Saga was about to snipe back, insist that this heat was unbearable, when someone hurried towards them. She didn’t recognize them and figured the person was looking for Primavera. She was proven right when the man spoke in rushed Rirkian.

She caught the words _Your Highness, apologize, the King of Ceantis,_ and _greet_. That alone was enough to tell her all she needed to know.

Primavera turned to her, an apologetic look on her face. _“I must attend to this. I am not rushing off because I despise your company.”_

She blinked at the apology. _“No worries, I would not assume so.”_

Her wife nodded quickly and rushed towards the castle in the most ladylike way of rushing. Saga took a moment longer to reflect on the past few hours but grew uncomfortable unattended and alone in the heat. She ventured back into the castle and suddenly remembered that she had no idea where to go.

Sure, she had passed the halls once when going to the garden, but reversing the process in her head wasn’t working, and the memories of her own castle’s layout were confusing this one.

She swore to go to her room, she took an immediate right, but there was no hallway to turn right. The stable was near the gardens, but of course the stable was on the opposite end of the castle. She sighed out in frustration and forced herself to walk calmly as if she knew exactly where she was going. Eventually, she was bound to come across something familiar.

And she did.

Except, there were people there.

_“Oh, I wasn’t expecting you to be here.”_ Primavera greeted her before her brain even caught up as to why those paintings on the ceiling were familiar.

_“Apologies, Your Highness,”_ she said somewhat nervously, glancing at her companion. _“I did not mean to interrupt.”_

The King was not very tall, hardly taller than her. He was lanky beneath his robes. He said something in Ceantish, unsurprising, but she did not know even basic greetings in the language, much less how to string them together herself.

_“Malecian would do, would it not?”_ Primavera asked him in response, a polite but challenging smile on her lips. She was surprised the girl even managed that, as her entire time in Oftola was spent nervously hunched into herself. Then again, Saga was not much better here.

_“Of course,”_ The King replied, _“Greetings, and if I may know your name?”_ He directed the request to her.

She curtsied in greeting, _“I am Her Royal Highness Princess Saga Lyles of Oftola, Your Majesty,”_

He bowed slightly in response, then turned back to Primavera and said something in Ceantish. She watched as Primavera steeled her expression to neutral, but something akin to rage flickered in her eyes.

She said something back in Ceantish, and then subtly directed her body language to an exit behind them. He bowed politely and left them.

“He said I am lucky to have you.” Primavera said without prompt, in Oftolian.

She tilted her head. “What did you say back?”

Primavera hesitated a second before she spoke in Malecian. _“I am lucky, and she is lucky to not have you.”_

Wow. _“Is he that bad?”_

_“Yes. I am polite because I must be, but he does not,”_ she paused, and took a breath, as if to correct whatever was about to come out. _“He does not care for women as people.”_

Saga blinked at that. _“Oh,”_

_“Rirkey is beautiful but it has its flaws, and one of them is creating men like him.”_ She said bitterly. _“Ceantis is worse.”_

She was touched to have Primavera defend her, somewhat, though she suspected it wasn’t _her_ , but what she represented. A statement that royalty, no matter the gender, should be treated with respect.

_“Well, thank you for diverting his attention.”_

_“I wouldn’t wish that on even_ Clair _and I hate her.”_ Primavera hissed and turned away.

_“Who is that?”_

She turned to her, eyes a little wide. _“You haven’t heard of Her Majesty Queen Clair of Funua Rivir?”_

Well. She had now. _“I didn’t know her given name. You know her well enough to hate her?”_

_“I don’t need to know her.”_ Primavera declared, _“She murdered a loyal adviser because she did her job. She starves her people for her own wealth. Even with all that, I still would not wish her to be married to him.”_

_“Maybe she could handle him.”_ Saga mused. _“Change his ways.”_

But Primavera shook her head. _“She’s so young, I think he could manipulate her.”_

_“But if what you say is true, she’s manipulated an entire Kingdom into following her.”_ She pointed out.

She sighed, and shrugged a little, _“I mean, that can be attributed to her parents,”_ but Saga suspected Primavera knew that a ruler couldn’t be sustained by just their parents, at least to the level Primavera claimed.

However, even after Primavera led her to her room again, instructed her to request guest suite 9 when asking for directions, she thought about the encounter.

She had heard of the King of Ceantis, of course. Their history was soaked in blood like the rest of them, but it was mostly through civil wars.

They switched sides of conflicts often, and their alliance was never secure with anyone. If it benefited them somehow to be on the other side of a conflict, they would do it in a heartbeat.

And then Her Majesty the Child Queen from Funua Rivir. She took power when she was young, and though conversations of pushing into their territory were discussed and enacted, they were quickly pushed back. She had been 20 and just falling in love with Veda, and politics were never _her_ thing, so it didn’t occur to her to think about it.

But that was who they were waging war against now, apparently serious enough that a marriage alliance was required.

If she remembered correctly, the Ruthless Queen would be 17 or 18 now, around her wife’s age. But she earned the name for a reason. The Kingdom itself was in conflict with Oftola, yet their alliance with Relaos ran deep, generations went by and it held firm, more or less.

She ultimately asked an attendant to show her to the library and the history section. Predictably, most of them were on Rirkey, but some were on Central Jiruu as a whole.

She picked one specifically on Funua Rivir that was written in Malecian and opened the book. The Kingdom was fishing based, since its establishment from a series of smaller counties. There was blood in the unification, as was true for every Kingdom in Central Jiruu.

The wars eventually settled, and Rirkey and Funua Rivir had once been unified as a single coastal Kingdom. Most of the fishing techniques and skills were cultivated when they were together. However, it appeared a civil war broke them apart, Rirkey separating from Funua Rivir, and their languages, Rirkian and Rivinese, evolved in slightly different ways.

There was a continued struggle between the two nations on territory over the ocean, the borders on both sides secure and well-guarded. This current struggle just so happened to drag in old allies and forge new alliances.

She wondered if it would mean anything, or if it would be marked down in history books as just another conflict. Not even Sophia’s husband, who was honored and mourned for, would appear named. Just another number.

Those who started and ended wars were mentioned, but those who fought, who died, who bled for them were not.

Saga shut the book with a _thump_ and got up and left the library.


	5. The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's where 'violence' and 'death' warning come in. The violence is knife related, not self-inflicted though.

About a month after Saga arrived, she figured out that the further away she went from the coastline, the less intense the heat got. As a result, she pushed to be allowed to roam farther and farther away, almost to the Rirkey-Ceantis border. It was rather barren, for how lush the area around the main castle was, but there were homes built up, and military camps and farms to feed the war.

Primavera eventually started accompanying her during her excursions, though the route rarely changed.

 _“Why are you asking to leave so far from the castle?”_ Primavera asked one day. “ _All we’ve done is talk and ride horses.”_ She shifted on her horse, and Saga shot a glance at her.

Primavera had a level of cautiousness around horses. It wasn’t that she didn’t like them, more that she was so small and they were large and powerful. She didn’t seem to enjoy riding them either.

Saga hadn’t ever feared horses, even after the times she fell off over and over. “ _Sure, but it’s better than sitting alone in the castle. And I’m not allowed to do this in Oftola.”_

_“Why?”_

_“Safety or something. They say it’s risky for people to travel away from any fortified walls or too close to a border.”_

_“Even with guards?”_

She shrugged, patting her horse gently. _“I guess. There might be a history behind that rule, though.”_

Primavera frowned at that, _“That’s sad.”_

_“Maybe. I’m sure you have rules you must follow that are exclusive to Rirkey?”_

The girl tilted her head thoughtfully as if looking down a mental list. _“I suppose there might be one or two. I can’t think of one right now.”_

They rode in silence for a while longer. She glanced up at the sky and noted they would need to turn back soon if they were to get back in time to change before dinner. She was treated as an esteemed guest, which meant she sometimes ate with the King and Queen Consort of Rirkey.

They were stiff and formal in front of her at first, but with time, some of it was dropped. They no longer forced their expressions to be as mundane and polite as possible and conversations flowered a little more naturally.

 _“Tell me about your siblings.”_ Primavera’s voice interrupted her musings, and she stiffened slightly.

What _about_ her siblings, she wanted to ask. Their public images, how they represent themselves to their people? Or perhaps what she saw growing up. How Sophia ruled playtime, how Stella was always quiet during dinner, or how Samuel challenged anyone in charge.

She wasn’t partially close in age with any of them, the closest being Samuel and he was always playing with Stella.

 _“Sophia has been named the heir to the Kingdom. Her name means ‘wisdom’ some say.”_ She finally said, staring at the horizon. _“Stella isn’t married and doesn’t want to be. Her name is related to the stars. Samuel is a politician, but I think he’s the unhappiest of all of us.”_

Primavera didn’t verbally reply, but she could see her nodding along to the words. _“Was it Princess Sophia’s husband who,”_ she paused, and Saga knew exactly what she was thinking. _“Who is the reason you’re here?”_

_“Yes. But Sophia would probably say it’s related more to how the armies are moving or something.”_

_“They think you could be killed?”_

_“The threats great enough that they wanted me out of the Kingdom entirely.”_ She replied. _“But none of my siblings have seen a battlefield, so I don’t know how we are the ones in danger.”_

 _“Funua Rivir specializes in sabotage and underhanded techniques.”_ Primavera supplied. _“We’ve had to be so careful with our border with them.”_

_“But to kill the heirs to the throne? That doesn’t seem advantageous.”_

Primavera hummed, almost giddy to discuss politics and all the gruesome ways she could die. _“Killing the heir can disrupt morale, especially if they’re loved and widely supported. It can create a power vacuum which turns the Kingdom on itself.”_

 _“Or it could motivate the armies to get revenge for their fallen leader?”_ She suggested.

_“If it’s played right to the armies, and things go right, but there’s only so much time before grief sets in.”_

Saga didn’t like the idea that she and her siblings were targets for murder. Subconsciously, she knew that with power came fame, and with fame, danger. She was always in danger, that was what guards were for.

 _“Tell me about your brother,”_ she said after a moment of silence, _“what is he like when he’s not charming everyone around him?”_

Primavera grinned in response, _“His name is Lennox and he’s my best friend. We’re very close in age, only a year apart, and he’s funny. He has more responsibilities though, so I don’t get to see him as often.”_

Now Saga frowned a little. Why wasn’t she married to him?

As if sensing her question, she supplied, _“He’s betrothed to a high lady in Ceantis. But if he wasn’t, I think you would be happy with him.”_ Then she frowned and amended, _“If he were older.”_

She nodded. _“20 is young.”_

_“He’s 17.”_

Oh. She had assumed Primavera was the younger since she wasn’t the heir but that wasn’t how it worked in Rirkey. _“My apologies. I assumed since you are so interested in politics yet aren’t named the heir,”_

 _“How does Oftola decide its heirs?”_ She asked, waving away the apology.

_“It’s discussed behind closed doors. The oldest is prioritized, but if the younger siblings are more interested, it’s negotiated.”_

_“Where do you fall?”_

_“Behind my brother and Sophia. They were more interested in politics and ruling than I was awhile back.”_

_“And now?”_

Saga shrugged a little, unsure. _“Perhaps I misjudged myself.”_

Primavera watched her for a second, glancing at her face then turned away. _“I think you would make a great ruler.”_

She smiled. No one had ever told her that. _“Thank you.”_

: : :

The King of Ceantis’s name was Raimond, but sometimes, Primavera would call him Rain. He did not extend her the same offer, but she called him Rain anyway.

During her stay, Saga noted that Rain was a little more friendly than Primavera made him out to be. Either her personality was rubbing off on him, her polite and kind nature sanding away the edges of his personality, or perhaps it took some digging to get to something called decent.

He still said cruel things, though, and Saga had to hold herself back from retaliating with one of her own.

 _“In my opinion, it’s very odd your brother wasn’t named heir.”_ He had once said. _“He would be so much more level-headed.”_

In hindsight, she had wished she had responded. Wasn’t it his father who broke his Kingdom apart? Wasn’t it his sister who lead the reunification? Weren’t Rain who disrupted the alliance between Bocartherngofolk and Ceantis because he didn’t want to marry?

But it was not her place to speak those words. She didn’t know his language, his history, not like Primavera did.

Perhaps that thought was exactly what kept the King like the way he was. No one felt it was right to correct him, which meant his ego was never checked.

 _“You can correct him,”_ Primavera had told her afterward. _“He really can’t do much.”_

 _“I feel like he’s the type to declare war against Oftola because the daughter of the King didn’t address him correctly,”_ she said dryly.

She had laughed in response, _“He is, but he’s a figurehead more than anything. I think there’s a system that keeps the royal family from doing something as reckless as declare war.”_

_“Well, then perhaps I will if he talks like that again.”_

He did, of course. The next day, they once again collected in an empty ballroom, watching Primavera dance with an invisible partner.

 _“I’m glad you’re focusing so much on your studies, Princess Primavera.”_ Rain began, and Saga tensed. _“You’re rather clumsy and you’ll never find an_ actual _suitor.”_

Primavera frowned mid waltz. _“I am married already.”_

 _“Sure, but you’ll want children, and,”_ he glanced at her, _“no offense, but Princess Saga doesn’t exactly help you fulfill your role.”_

A flood of fury and adrenaline shot through her system. _“Go build a house and die in the war, then you’ll fulfill_ your _purpose.”_ She snapped.

He frowned at her, _“Times have changed. I have other duties to attend to.”_

 _“As do we all,”_ Primavera replied, beginning to move again. _“Aren’t you supposed to produce an heir?”_

_“Oh right, but you don’t want to because you’re scared of getting married. Who’s the failure now?”_

On some level, Saga knew she fucked up. Calling out a fellow royal’s failures and fears about marriage opened herself up to attack, was enough for the discussion of war, but the bafflement on his face, the knowledge she might’ve been the first person to talk back, was enough.

He left without a word, and Primavera spun herself to face her.

“Too much?” She asked in Oftolian.

_“Maybe. Good call-back though.”_

_“I’ve had a lot of time to think about it.”_

They did not see Rain at dinner later, and when asked, she and Primavera exchanged sly grins. The deep burn of satisfaction followed her into sleep.

The next day she walked with a skip in her step, and greeted those she recognized with a wave or a smile, and searched for Primavera quickly. She had grown to enjoy spending time with her, even if she tended to ramble about things Saga didn’t understand, or sometimes went entirely quiet for unknown reasons.

 _“Has he shown his face again?”_ Saga asked the moment she spotted the other Princess. They often met in the library and would explore from there.

But Primavera wasn’t looking at her. At least, not in a way that seemed good. She bit her lip, looking at her, then looking away. _“Saga, there’s something you need to know.”_

She tried to smile reassuringly, though a sense of doubt and concern was already creeping into her chest. _“Yes?”_

 _“Rain, well, Raimond, has left Rirkey last night. He has not specified if it’s tied to what happened yesterday, but he said it’s related to the war. And-“_ Primavera held out a neatly rolled paper, tied with a royal blue and yellow ribbon, _“-this arrived this morning.”_

 _“Oftolian colors,”_ she noted, carefully taking it. It was easier to focus on this mystery that was about to be solved, instead of mentally obsessing over Rain. She untied the ribbon carefully, noting that it appeared to have been untied before, possibly multiple times.

The letter was addressed to her, though.

|| Dear Madam,

Saga, I hope this letter finds you well, however, this letter bears tragic news. Your sister Sophia has been recently found dead after a raid of her castle, and her children were slaughtered too. This letter shall reach you in approximately a day since I have written this. You shall remain in the Kingdom of Rirkey for an unforeseen amount of time, and you must stay within those borders.

I apologize that this news must come from a letter.

Yours Sincerely,

The Queen Consort of Oftola ||

She had to reread the letter by the time she hit ‘slaughtered.’ Sophia, dead? But she had talked with her just recently. That wasn’t possible, she was just _there_ , just _alive_.

 _“Saga?”_ Primavera asked nervously. _“What does it say.”_

She glanced down at the letter in her hands, then to the long rows of bookshelves. She must have read it wrong because she didn’t feel anything. _“Look at it yourself.”_ She handed the letter over without glancing at her. She twittered the ribbon between her hands, silky soft.

 _“Oh, Saga. I’m so sorry,”_ Primavera whispered, but Saga wasn’t looking at her. What she should’ve said was _that’s not right_ , because Sophia was still alive, right? But why would her mother lie to her?

And what did that mean for her and Samuel and Stella? Did they even know? She clenched her fists, forcing her nails into her skin as a reminder to not get lost in a spiral of questions. “That doesn’t make sense, she is _safe_ , safer than any human in Oftola can be,”

 _“Saga,”_ Primavera inched closer, the curling paper still clutched in one hand, _“do you — know the extent of Funua Rivir’s tactics?”_

No. She did not.

 _“They are the type of army to send scouts to slit the throats of horses before a battle,”_ she started slowly, though the words carried images she had to banish immediately. _“Do you remember the conversation we had about killing the heirs to a land?”_

She swallowed. _“I do.”_

_“There is a precedent for that. We are unsure of how they do it, but they often are successful.”_

“Well we should’ve been more prepared! This shouldn’t have happened, Sophia should be fine, what is wrong with them?!” She shouted suddenly, rage boiling in her chest, her muscles, flooding her vision with red. She didn’t even know who ‘them’ was, Oftola? Funua Rivir?

Primavera flinched back, and that’s what made her stop. Saga was not emotional, not really, not usually. Oftentimes she shut down and pushed her emotions away, or threw them at someone else and then melted back into apathy but-

But anger was scary. She knew that first hand, and Primavera did nothing wrong.

 _“You’re right. And we can’t do anything to change that. We can’t turn back time.”_ Primavera said. _“But what are you going to do about it?”_

She opened her mouth. Then closed it. She couldn’t do a thing right now, but eventually, she could. She could commission a statue in her honor, name a war room after her, write books upon books of her excellence, her kindness, her ambition.

But she couldn’t do anything. _“I can’t.”_

Primavera didn’t approach her, but said, _“It’s okay to cry,”_

 _“I can’t.”_ She repeated, and slowly backed out of the library. _“I can’t save her. I can’t, I couldn’t,”_ what couldn’t she do? Sophia was her friend, her favorite sibling, the one who always knew what to say, but instead, a little girl from another place was trying to tell her how to live, how to feel.

It was _her_ sister.

She rushed away.

: : :

She did not mope, per se, as lash violently out on a training dummy. Seeing as she could not destroy things in a guest bedroom, she opted to instead demand a sword and practice. Practice turned to frustration, which turned to destructive rage.

Then there was the self-hatred and doubt. If she had done something different, if she had expressed interest in being heir instead of Sophia, would she still be alive? If Saga died, would they have left her alone?

She felt so helpless because so much that lead to her demise wasn’t due to what Saga did, but to what she didn’t do.

She gave the sword back to the knight supervising her training session (if it could be called that) and she returned to her room.

And there, she thoroughly moped. Because Sophia was _gone_ , and Primavera hadn’t come to see her since the library that morning (it was late afternoon, almost evening) and nothing to stop her from losing a grip on the present.

By the time she was 5, Sophia was turning 15. Sophia was never a sister, almost, but a guide or a friend. She was an adult before Saga could properly ride a horse, married when Saga had turned 13, and was gone so quickly afterward.

But any time she spent with her, this adult who was ambitious and smart and cunning, was cherished. She knew so much and though Saga had resigned herself to a different life, she looked up to her.

And now she all she had to look up to was a body. Not even that, a memory. Saga wouldn’t be allowed to go back and mourn, she’d have to live in a state of suspension. And Samuel and Stella. They were both closer to each other, obviously being close in age led them to bond differently. Though their personalities clashed, they made a team. And they cared about Sophia too, how would they deal with it?Were they in danger?

Samuel was up next to the throne, would he be killed next? Then her? How much would this pointless war take? It should’ve been avoided, whatever reason Oftola joined some small war over territory certainly should’ve been dealt with differently.

Should’ve, would’ve, could’ve. Nothing she thought, no-one of the curses or prayers she recited would change what happened. But if she were to be the heir, she could prevent it from happening again.

With that revelation, she shot up from where she lay, the world whitening briefly in a dizzy spell but it did not stop the thought. If she could become heir-apparent, she could not be removed. Samuel would certainly contest this, but she could build a defense.

There was a reason Sophia was chosen over Samuel, probably many. She would have to meet with him, expose how he would be inadequate compared to her.

Yet. She was not fit either.

She drove a wedge between her and the King of Ceantis. He was visiting as a sign of respect, the fact the King himself visited was of the highest honor. But with her presence, she drove him away. She didn’t know the first thing about taking charge, about leading people who loathed her.

What was she thinking, ideas of grandeur and leaving a legacy? Her entire life had been resigned to being forgotten by the history books, mentioned in the footnotes of her siblings, and nothing more. Why did she assume the world would turn around to accommodate a sudden burst of ambition?

She slumped back down, tears of frustration and anger clouding her eyes. She was helpless.

: : :

Perhaps it was short-sighted of her to get on a horse in the middle of the night and ride away from the castle.

She couldn’t sleep, too many thoughts and fears and anger boiling in her. And. Maybe a dark part of her mind whispered that there wasn’t much to lose anyway.

The horse she chose obviously could not see in the dim moonlight, but it knew the path well enough that, with the occasional lantern, it did not stumble over the wood and dirt and stone.

She didn’t know where she was going, but it felt like freedom. She recognized a river, moving steadily if slowly, glimmering as if crystals dotted the waves.

The horse was moving too fast, though, so soon her view was blocked by trees and buildings. She redirected her attention to the road in front of her. She had not left the castle for far too long, partially by demand of her parents and general paranoia since _her_ death, but also because her mind left her tapped.

Her grief manifested as an invisible weight that sat on her chest, it kept her tired when the sun rose and restless when it set. Sometimes fits of tears or rage would fill her, but most of the time, she felt as lifeless as Sophia was.

The horse whinnied suddenly and stopped violently quick, rearing up. Saga was forced out of her mind and she gripped the reins and leaned forward to prevent being tossed. In the dark she couldn’t see anything, and figured, to her mild annoyance, the horse was simply spooked by a shadow.

“It’s okay,” she said aloud, louder than she intended to. “You’re fine.”

The horse snorted in protest and started attempting to back up. Saga sighed and dismounted the horse. “Fine, I guess I’ll have to lead you,” She glanced around as she spoke, and suddenly became aware that it was very quiet.

Almost too quiet. The area they were in was forested, so there certainly should’ve been a steady drone of bugs singing into the summer air, yet-

A bush rustled ever so slightly to her left, out of the corner of her eye, and she just _moved_. The soft _whoosh_ of a knife grazed her skin and kissed the air, and the gig was up. Her horse, in full panic mode, turned away and started galloping away.

She cursed and scrambled after it. But she knew she could not outrun whoever this was.

Light footsteps followed her own, adrenaline pumping through her veins as she moved. It felt as if her arms would not respond properly, her legs were too slow and the footsteps were getting closer and closer-

Something tackled her to the ground and she hit her head hard. She barely felt the pain, instead struggled away from whoever it was, but a hand slammed a wrist down, and a body was upon her. In the dark, she could not see, but it didn’t matter. The knife reflected the moonlight as it was raised above her, a hand holding down an arm and she shut her eyes in reflex and flailed and screamed.

Was this how Sophia felt? Endlessly trapped, then murdered on the spot? At least, whatever awaited her on the other side, Sophia would be there too.

The knife nicked her hand, which forced her solemn thoughts to freeze, but the assassin was well-practiced. They slammed their knee into her gut and she choked, and in her distraction, they twisted their wrist from her clawing fingers and cool metal met her neck.

It. Hurt.

Even with the adrenaline and fear and everything, the pain sizzled past her frantic mind and it _hurt_.

She howled in pain with renewed vigor, the taste and smell of blood assaulting her senses, the blade piercing her skin again and again and all she could do was thrash and sob. She wondered if she would see the light despite her eyes being closed.

Then the assassin was suddenly gone. She gasped and choked and squirmed and she could not see what was happening but she heard yelling, screaming, but it wasn’t her own.

Rushed, panicked voices. Horse hooves approaching and she wanted to wiggle away but her blood was slipping through her fingers, and she lost any grip on the direction of the world and just stopped trying.

Shaky hands touched hers and she shrieked in response, panicking that the assassin was back to finish the job they evidently failed, but instead of the unforgiving edge of a knife, cloth was pressed harshly to her throat. More hands removed her own from the injury and then the cloth was wrapped tightly against her skin.

It felt like choking, but not to kill. She opened her eyes but black spots dotted her vision. Many faces blocked out the moon and hair tickled her face as she attempted to rise.

 _“No, Princess, lay down. We will get you to safety.”_ An unfamiliar voice assured, and some of the faces retreated from her field of view. _“Stay with us, you’ll be okay soon.”_

But she was tired. She tried, but her eyelids felt heavy and the world was too distant, out of reach and unrecognizable. She shut her eyes and met darkness.


	6. The Heir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reign of Saga has begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some mentions of what happened previously, but the warnings don't apply anymore.

For the first time since Saga had entered Rirkey, she woke up cold.

She kept her eyes shut, because for some reason they refused to open properly, as if something sticky was keeping them together. With her ears, she listened for rustling or breathing, any indication that she was not alone.

She found nothing and shivered under the thin sheet.

It felt like the environment wasn’t cool, just that the heat wasn’t being absorbed, somehow. She wasn’t entirely sure if that was possible, but she discarded the thought.

Then her memory caught up to her. Leaving in the dead of night, her horse panicking, the knife-

She forced her eyes open and sat up and immediately regretted it. A near-painful pang of dizziness hit her and she collapsed onto her back. She felt her pulse quicken, and she swallowed, but it only served to remind her that bandages encircled her throat.

She made a noise in protest, almost questioning. She didn’t dare try to speak. She vividly remembered how the knife slashed at the sides of her neck, then towards her vocal cords. She hadn’t been valued for her voice, obviously, part of being royalty was knowing when to be quiet, and she wasn’t a singer, but still. Her voice wasn’t something she wished to lose.

A quiet knock, followed by the door opening just a little. A quiet gasp, the door shut, and the person quickly hurried away. Saga raised a brow at that, but didn’t move to respond. She was sure either her bandages were bleeding through, or whoever it was noticed she was awake.

She sat in a brief moment of silence, admiring the architecture, when the door slammed open. The wood nearly came from its hinges from the force.

And there stood Primavera. She looked positively furious.

She shouting something in Rirkian that Saga didn’t understand but the tones of anger and disappointment were universal. At some point in the middle of her fury, Primavera realized her mistake and suddenly switch to Malecian.

 _“I cannot believe you left without an escort,”_ Primavera hissed, approaching her. _“Not even letting anyone know! And with the recent threats to your life??”_

She opened her mouth to defend herself, but shut it. Consciously aware of her limits, she slowly moved to be sitting upright. _“I’m here, aren’t I?”_ She wheezed.

Clearly, that wasn’t the right thing to say. _“Are you kidding me? You could’ve died! You’re lucky you have your voice! Do you value yourself so little?”_ Her voice rose as she approached, seemingly without realizing.

 _“Well, no.”_ She shrugged a little, but didn’t get to follow up.

 _“Then why? Why would you do that? Why would you do something so reckless?”_ Primavera screeched in her face. _“_ Why _?”_

Saga frowned and looked away. She didn’t know why she had left, except that the reasons _not_ to weren’t good enough. _“I guess, I wanted to go home. To see her.”_

 _“You will see her again, but please,”_ she begged, _“not now. Not soon. I may not love you like a wife should, but that doesn’t mean I don’t at all.”_

 _“Primavera, I,”_ She sighed out, but didn’t know what to say.

 _“I know,”_ she whispered, her voice thick with grief, _“I was so worried.”_

_“I’m sorry.”_

_“I know that too.”_ She backed away, finally, and Saga let go of her breath. She looked reluctant to approach the door, but her eyes flickered down from her face then back up. _“Get some rest. I’ll see you later.”_

She left silently and Saga complied, shutting her eyes.

Evidently, she had been asleep for much longer than she had thought. A letter arrived for her from Oftola, again from her mother. It declared, with no room for argument, that she was returning to Oftola as soon as she was physically able to, where her family and staff, who were familiar with her antics, could keep her safe.

Part of her enjoyed the freedom she had in Rirkey but the logical part knew that it wasn’t safe. She wasn’t safe alone. Doubt crept up as she thought about it. An heir would not act so recklessly with such little disregard for their life, would they?

Maybe she would not make a good heir. She could not handle something as common as _grief_ , wars and policy, they would be her life if she were Queen. Then again, it was her first time truly feeling it. She hadn’t known her grandparents before their passing, unlike Sophia, she never had friends until Veda, she was not attached to animals in the way Stella was.

Perhaps Sophia’s death was teaching her how to grieve and how to get past it.

She frowned to herself at where her thoughts would inevitably go to. How Sophia’s death was _good_ for her, but that was not possible nor respectful, so she shut her eyes to try to sleep.

: : :

As promised, Primavera visited often. She had to do the majority of the talking, but she didn’t seem to mind. Sometimes she brought books from the library, discussing the politics of particularly messy inheritance. Some were written in Rirkian, which gave her a chance to show off her translation skills as she read.

Though Primavera never spoke it outright, she dropped hints about Saga possibly making a bid for the throne. Oftola’s way of determining the line of succession was not like any others in Central Jiruu, which must have interested the other Princess.

But those hints were easily deflectable, once the healers were confident speaking would not injure her further. Samuel was older than her, he had children already which ensured the line would not die and thus create a messy civil war. Most importantly, he was already a politician, someone who made laws. She was no one.

 _“You’re more than no one. And besides, there was probably a reason he wasn’t named heir-apparent at first.”_ Primavera said with a gentle smile.

That reason should’ve been known to her, since all of her siblings had to attend the line-of-succession discussion, but in reality she had no idea. He and Sophia were the only two very interested in the throne before, so they had many discussions behind closed doors with their father. Ultimately, Sophia was named Crown Princess, Samuel following up second to the line, and Saga third, only because Stella had abdicated the throne.

Thinking about those days was painful, and the desire to fall back into the state of misery and recklessness was tempting at that moment.

_“Perhaps there is, Primavera. But I don’t know. And he certainly wouldn't tell me.”_

They sat in silence then, and Saga was tempted to go back to staring out the window and musing about existence. However, Primavera spoke up. _“You’re going back to Oftola, right?”_

The question wasn’t phrased like she wanted comfort, but asking for a confirmation. _“Yes. In a week, they say.”_

_“And you said your brother will be there too.”_

The letter had mentioned it, _“Yes?”_

 _“Well then,”_ Primavera looked around, as if she were about to say something treasonous. _“Look for where he fails in leadership and where you succeed.”_

_“You really think I could do this? After all my years of passive existence?”_

_“I think you were born for it.”_

They had left the issue at that, but the thought stuck with her. She hadn’t been told she was born to rule, despite being a Princess. She had older siblings who were already interested in politics by the time she could walk, so it made sense that they would trump her bid for the throne.

But the sincerity, the earnest expression that came along with the words, was touching.

In the days leading up to her departure back to Oftola, she was given light exercise instructions in order to prepare for the travel. They were going on horseback once again, but the pace was set to be slower. Her things would be transported separately, and they were set to arrive around the same time, unlike before.

Saga found that she would miss the other Princess, once she was home. Her wife, friend, was unlike so many other people she had met and interacted with. Sure, she most likely played nice at first for diplomatic reasons, but she liked to think that they had grown to care about each other, just not in a romantic way.

There was a tinge of sadness that followed their last conversation. It was an informal goodbye, Saga already dressed for the trip home and on her horse and Primavera had already given a formal goodbye.

 _“Stay safe.”_ Primavera said quietly, looking up.

She smiled a little. _“I’ll try.”_

_“If you decide to take the throne, know that I will do everything in my power to support you. Even if we, we are no longer married by then, I will be there.”_

_“And I you. I will support you and Rirkey should I ever be Queen.”_

Riding away from her, from the place she made her home for the past weeks, months, was painful. She had stayed a good portion of the remaining summer, and though autumn hadn’t touched Rirkey’s lands, she knew the trees at home would be a brilliant orange and yellow.

Still. She would miss her and the time they spent together.

: : :

The ride was fairly uneventful the first day. At some point during the evening, her bandages began to bleed through and the tavern owners panicked, which made her laugh a little. Assuring them that she had not been covering a worse wound and the bandages would hold up through the night was the most interesting thing that happened that day.

The next day, a threat was delivered to her door. She had been the one to find it, it was something vague about watching her back and that she would soon be snuffed out of existence.

She was removed from the place they were staying immediately and the pace increased from a steady trot to a full on gallop.

Thanks to their hasty response, they arrived in Oftola that night, and she felt like she was being suffocated looking up at the approaching palace.

The place she had once called her home felt odd, as if she were seeing things she remembered from a dream. She had grown accustomed to Rirkey’s architecture and their people, and there were similarities, sure, but the differences was what threw her off.

The castle itself was also highly guarded. Entrances had temporary watch towers built up, guards saluted to her when she passed by, but there were far more than ever before.

Which made sense. The Crown Princess had died under their watch, of course they would increase security. Saga winced at the thought and wordlessly directed her horse to the stables.

She dismounted carefully, and took a moment to run her fingers through the horses hair. It whinnied softly, and suddenly she wasn’t in Oftola.

She was in Rirkey, surrounded by trees and hot air but no bugs to keep the thoughts away. Her horse was afraid and then a knife and Saga breathed in sharply and dug her nails into her arm because _it wasn’t real it wasn’t real._

But it was dark and something bright reflected in the moonlight and she couldn’t escape and she was going to die and she promised-

“Princess?” Someone out their hand on her arm and she almost screamed.

She turned quickly, her heart racing against her chest, and was back home. It was a stable handler, familiar, safe, and relief flooded into her veins.

“Hello,” she greeted, and she found her Oftolian twinged slightly with Malecian. “This horse is tired.” Could she not think of anything more interesting or nuanced to say? She was 26 and counting and all she could remark was ‘it’s tired?’

She shook her head a little and nodded to him before leaving to enter the castle, her home. It felt eerily familiar in the dark. Her heart jerked at every little shadow, the small windows felt restrictive and lamps hardly made up for the lack of natural light.

She moved on autopilot, yet found a similar problem that she had when she first arrived in Rirkey. The halls were ghosts of something familiar, something comforting, but they were wrong.

Saga shook her head and forced herself to focus on the familiar. She found her way to her room, and collapsed on the bed. She hadn’t noticed before, but her room was very cold, even in her traveling outfit. She changed into a sleeping gown and wiggled beneath the blankets, and hoped she would find her place in Oftola again.

: : :

The problem with Samuel was that she hadn’t talked to him since she was maybe seven. While Sophia and Stella were consistent with their visits, Samuel had turned his back on them. She hadn’t realized how bitter he had been about his marriage.

She was given a day to readjust to life in Oftola, and took that time to ask about her brother. The staff members were respectful, as always, but she picked up on hints of disdain or fear. Some of the people who worked with him in politics were eager to publicly discuss his weaknesses. He was uncompromising and selfish, unable to think about how his actions and writing would impact others. He had unintentionally broke apart a group of lawmakers, and sewed division with his hardline stances.

That, she decided, could be spun in multiple ways. He could be called strong, by not bending his morals or ideas, or he could be called dangerous, a threat to negotiations.

She studied public negotiations in turn. She knew she would be at a disadvantage when proving herself, but Rirkey had publicly given their support to her, had emphasized that they had _liked_ hosting her. She had very little practice (and had already messed up once) but she felt a little confident.

But one day wasn’t going to be enough to convince her parents that she should be the Crown Princess, when Samuel had been vying for it for his whole life. She looked up and glanced out the window, and that’s when she caught sight of her scarring.

Her throat had healed up and left her voice and life relatively undamaged, but it had left a mark. The cuts were not fully healed, some were still bandaged, but shallower ones had began to scar. They were pink and white raised lines, standing starkly against her skin.

She wondered, then, if Samuel’s life had nearly been taken, or if it was just hers. Primavera stated that heirs tended to be targets during war if they were beloved by their people. She wondered if the scars would make her more or less appealing to Veda, but quickly banished the thought, because she lived while Sophia died, and something as shallow as appearances shouldn’t even be entertained.

When they finally met, for the first time in years, he greeted her coldly. He gave a formal nod of indifference, when she entered the room to begin negotiations, but nothing more. It hit her, suddenly, that he didn’t think she would protest, that she would be easily cast aside.

Anger filled her veins, but she forced herself to nod back and take her seat.

“Thank you for joining us, Princess Saga.” Their father greeted her. “As you two know, this meeting is to discuss the line of succession.” They both knew this. “If you choose to abdicate your claim to the throne,” he addressed her, with that line, “Prince Samuel will be set to be the heir-apparently.”

She smiled at him. “Of course.” And she turned to Samuel.

“Sister.” He said.

“Brother.” She replied flatly.

“You want the throne? Become heir-apparent? Are you aware of the pressures that you are unable to withstand?”

“I do, brother. I am as much of a Princess as you are a Prince.”

“You’re married to a woman.”

“You have not read your history.” She said immediately. “Historical marriages between those of the same-sex have existed, all over Central Jiruu, and here, in Oftola.”

“So where is your heir?”

“Developing in my wife’s womb.” That was a lie. “Or, mine. She has a brother, as do I. The blood of royalty will continue under my reign, and my negotiations with Rirkey have ensured they will be supportive of me. You, on the other hand, split apart those who must rally together for the good of the people.”

He turned to their parents, clearly looking for their support, but there was none to give. “I have already established a presence in Oftola.” He said to them. “She is a Princess and nothing more.”

“The public likes me more.” She replied boldly. “I am not just a figurehead, but someone they want to be loyal to.”

Their parents stared at them both, and Saga waited with bated breath.

It was their mother who spoke, “Thank you both for your input. For the time being, Samuel will remain the heir,” and Saga’s heart sunk. “However, Saga, we will have this conversation once again next year until we name an heir-apparent.”

 _Oh._ That was further than she thought she’d get. Their parents weren’t convinced, _yet_. She still had a chance. She nodded politely, but a quick glance to Samuel told her he wasn’t as happy.

“Excuse me,” Samuel demanded, “I have been working for this my entire life! I-“

“Samuel.” Their father frowned at him. “The decision has been made. Do not question your Mother.”

“No!” He jumped up from his chair, “She doesn’t even know what she’s doing! She does not deserve this chance-“

“SAMUEL!” Their father shouted, standing up as well. “That is your sister! You are a Prince, not a shallow commoner and you do not get to decide who gets a chance. Your lack of respect and manners is why Sophia was chosen before you.” He shook his head and suddenly Saga knew exactly what he was going to say. “I’m disappointed to call you my son.”

A quick glance to her brother told her that yes, that hurt, and it shut him up right away. He quietly nodded and excused himself. She could easily stay with her parents, make an argument for her purpose, but. Perhaps it would not be terrible to talk with him separately.

“I shall go talk with him.” She told her parents.

Their mother nodded, “Very well.”

Saga left swiftly after him. She knew where his room was, of course, but wondered if he would’ve left the castle all together. However, she navigated to his room, and with only a quick knock to signal her entrance, pushed the door open.

Samuel looked up quickly, and glowered at her. “What? Come to gloat?”

“No.” She shot back and didn’t follow up.

A few seconds past before he spoke again, “Tell me why you’re here, then. Take something else that was mine by brith? Why don’t you take this gift my parents gave me when I was born while you’re at it, huh?”

Saga crossed her arms but didn’t respond.

“How about my entire castle! Since you can just waltz in and take everything I’ve earned,” he hissed, getting up to pace the room. “How about my wife and kids? Since you’re such a charmer.”

She raised a brow, “Are you done?”

“No! I-“ he paused mid step and stumbled slightly. “I just, I hate that you think you deserve this! You haven’t worked for this your entire life just to be pushed aside,”

“I don’t think I deserve this.” She replied shortly, which made him pause. “The only reason I am trying is to prevent more pointless wars. Sophia’s death could’ve been avoided. This war that we’re in could’ve been avoided.”

“You never cared about war before.”

“I hadn’t experienced loss before.” She shot back. “What are you going to do about it? Are you going to change or are you going to stay in the same mindset?”

“You act like it’s easy.” He sneered. “You don’t understand how complicated our relationship was.”

“Probably not. But what I do know is that the war is hurting more people than it could ever benefit.”

“I know that.”

“I want to make sure wars like this can’t happen again. To our children, to whoever else has suffered.” She stepped closer to him.

“You don’t understand.”

“I will learn.”

“You can’t learn things like this.”

“Then I will fail again and again until I get it right.”

They stared at each other. Samuel’s eyes were a dull green, darting over her face, as if looking for deceit. She understood his viewpoint, in fact, the doubt he expressed about her was what she dealt with from herself. But she felt resolved to give it a shot, to remember why she wanted the throne.

It wasn’t for power, or spite, or because she was told to want it. For Sophia, for the others who she didn’t know who died. She would learn their names, before the next meeting. She’d do everything in her power to learn why the war happened and how to avoid it in the future. And she would learn when war was a necessity.

She hoped to convey all that through her eyes and expressions, but suspected most were lost to her brother. She wished she had Sophia’s ability to diffuse situations, suddenly. She wasn’t sure if her argument was what Samuel needed then, nor if it would impact him. Sophia always knew what to say, her words lingered in her mind for years.

“Get out of my room.” He demanded coldly, suddenly.

She blinked in surprise, “I’m serious. I am not doing this because of you, it’s because of so many other things.”

“It should be mine.” He snarled, and Saga felt a spike of fear. “It’s my birth-given right.”

“It’s mine too.” She replied forcefully. “Not everything is about you.”

He stalked towards her, and she backed up quickly in turn. Perhaps she should’ve just left when he warned, because he looked like he wanted to kill her. Maybe that was fair. _No_ , she bit her lip to keep herself from that train of thought.

“I will not make this easy for you.” He warned.

She narrowed her eyes at him, and touched the handle to his door. “Good. And I will do everything in my power to get what I want.”

Samuel stared at her, not with malice, but with humor. “You remind me of Sophia.”

She closed her eyes briefly, and shut the door behind her. Now was not the time to think about her, about how she loved and loathed her sometimes, nor about how Samuel was never enough.

: : :

The first day she joined a war meeting, she hadn’t been noticed at all. She slipped in wordlessly, dressed in a blouse and pants, and listened. They wanted to attack a fort of Funua Rivir’s that held a large amount of ammunition and soldiers. If they could take it, it wouldn’t save them, but might be enough to scare the other side.

Someone, though, pointed out it might aggravate them more, and if they were to fail, they wouldn’t have many armies left. Even if they were to succeed, it was likely many would die for it.

The victory would be bittersweet and unsustainable. The room had not agreed on a course of action and the meeting was left without a resolution. Saga suspected this happened often.

She spent the remainder of the day and the next reading and studying with a tutor. Her parents had been surprised when she requested one, but her mother had smiled a little, in an almost approving way.

The first thing her tutor taught her was manipulation tactics. Sometimes to pass laws, one must promise to support another later on, sometimes unfavorable laws must be slipped into favorable ones. Strategies in war were about pretending to consider one action then doing another. Sometimes it was about building up a strong defense and taking the high ground.

She found it rather dry, but she merely touched the bandages on her throat to remind her why she was doing this.

It took a week for her to really grasp the concept and necessity of war. She read history books that detailed battles in brutal detail, a guide to the art of war, and all the while she thought about the people who had died already.

War could last centuries, and by that time, both sides often suffered more losses than gains. Wars could also last mere months, weeks even. Should one side be so entirely stronger, war was more of a formality of the taking of land.

She was given the notes written by one of the Generals about Funua Rivir’s actions. They were fairly defensive, until Oftola’s armies pushed past a certain border, and that was when Sophia was killed.

She had winced at the connection, but continued. Oftola was the aggressor in this instance and wanted land, but the war was getting costly. Ever since the Child Queen had taken over, their strategies had shifted massively, a shift Oftola didn’t know how to deal with.

That week, when she joined the meeting, Samuel did as well. He barely acknowledged her, but he contributed more to the conversation. It was clear that the room wanted direct leadership, needed it even. He told them to attack the fortress and they agreed.

Saga recommended they think about suing for peace, should the resources be depleted after the surge. Both suggestions were taken into consideration.

The next month was a whirlwind of studying, negotiating, and practice debates. Her throat healed up mostly, the bandages were able to be removed, and she was left with raised, white lines.

Without the bandages, the slashes the knife made were visible. Two on the left side of her throat, near where she could feel her heart beating, and three on the right, and four long slashes on the front. She swallowed, and the lines raised with her movements. They tingled at her touch, but they didn’t feel like they were part of her.

But they were, and she pulled herself away from the mirror.

The next day, Oftola made a formal request to sue for peace. The raid was successful, but as was predicted, most of Oftola’s remaining resources were used up, and though there were some in the fort, it didn’t have enough to sustain the army. It had been going on long enough.

Funua Rivir responded fairly quickly, and fighting ceased between them. They demanded lumber and resources from them in retribution, but nothing more. From the other Kingdoms, they demanded similar. They also demanded that Oftola stop fighting with Relaos and agree to their terms of peace.

Relaos hadn’t touched Rirkey, but Oftola was feeling the attacks to the North, so they agreed. Saga had wanted to be the adviser sent, but it was too sensitive of a negotiation for an inexperienced royal. Reluctantly, she agreed.

Balana was involved only in that they supplied Oftola with resources, and in turn, had to compensate for less. Ceantis was in a similar position, though they had spent about half of the war on both sides, it was rumored that Funua Rivir had demanded wool produce in return for their support.

The last Kingdom mainly involved in the fighting to agree to the peace negotiations was Rirkey. The rulers were stubborn, but eventually found themselves unsupported in the war, and complied with the terms.

A date was arranged for diplomats and negotiators to meet in Funua Rivir. Oftola agreed to send their Queen and an adviser.

Shockingly, she got a letter from Rirkey that stated Primavera was to stay with her while negotiations occurred. She didn’t have anyone to talk to about it, but she felt mixed. For one, Primavera was her friend, but for another, they were married. Saga didn’t want to be married to her.

But she shook her head and set the letter aside. It was likely the King was notified and agreed as well, and she was simply getting a letter as a curtsey.

The date couldn’t come quicker, and suddenly Saga found herself preparing to greet her wife once again, only this time, hopefully, it would not be so cold.

: : :

“Good morning, Princess Saga,” Primavera greeted with a smile. She had someone open the door for her, but did not need prompting to curtsy.

She curtsied in response and smiled back. “Hello, Princess. Your Oftolian has improved. Did you practice just for me?”

“Perhaps,” she replied. _“But I think I would prefer Malecian for now.”_

She laughed a little, _“Of course. I shall show you to your room and to the library, if you would like.”_

_“Have you found enjoyment in books?”_

_“Hardly. But if I want to be named heir-apparent, I have to dwell in them. Even Sophia had to, in order to earn the title.”_

_“So that’s in motion?”_

She shrugged as she walked. _“Somewhat. My parents haven’t named an heir-apparent yet, which isn’t exactly a no.”_

_“What do you think is holding you back?”_

_“Lack of experience, lack of heirs. But I’m nicer than my brother, if you could believe it.”_

Primavera faked-gasped, _“Someone meaner than you? Absolutely unpredictable.”_

 _“Yeah, yeah,”_ she shook her head. _“And the heirs thing, well, I’m not exactly thrilled about dealing with that.”_

They stopped outside Primavera’s room, but the other Princess shook her head and gestured to the general location of the library. _“Would you marry for an heir, then take a Mistress?”_

Saga frowned to herself, the movement aggravating her scars. _“No. I think I will find a surrogate.”_

They walked in silence until they made it to the library. Primavera paused in the doorway, and Saga followed suit. _“Do you intend to keep me as your wife?”_

She turned to face her wife and the answer came easily. _“No. I can divorce before I become Queen, then any marriage is solidified. Heaven forbid I be named heir-apparent then my Father drops dead before then. Is there a reason you ask?”_

 _“Rirkey passed a law that states divorcées with their ex spouse still alive cannot be named Queen or King.”_ She replied. _“Not like I was expecting to be Queen, but it made me think.”_

_“I’m sorry.”_

_“It’s not your fault. I will see what I can do about an alliance not tied to marriage.”_ Primavera slipped into the library and Saga could hear her exhale, like the library provided the first breath of fresh air since she entered Oftola’s borders. _“But I hope the divorce does not taint what we have.”_

 _“Of course not.”_ She replied, approaching the stairs to the second floor. _“I have found I enjoy your company, if nothing else.”_

Primavera laughed a little, covering her face. _“Thanks. You don’t know how much that means to me.”_

She didn’t. She had genuinely assumed Primavera only tolerated her because that’s what she used to do. _“Of course.”_

: : :

Saga had left the library after Primavera. She vividly remembered how she had abandoned her without a word the first time they met, and vowed to do better. Primavera eventually left to be in her room, and Saga wandered to the gardens.

Though Rirkey had lush greenery and exotic flora that she had never seen before, she still loved Oftola’s garden. They were familiar, the temperature was moderate and nothing like the heat in Rirkey.

“Good evening, Princess.” She jerked up at the familiar voice from across the roses. “Long time no see.”

Saga laughed a little behind her smile. She _missed_ her, “Hello, Veda.”

The Lady carefully made her way around the garden, approaching her with a smile. “So?”

“So?” Saga echoed, confused.

“Do you still want me?”

Her promise. They faced each other, only a single pace away. “I want to be Queen.” She blurted out. “I want to make a difference.” The question was, would Veda still want that? When she made her promise, that was not on the table.

She spoke quietly, unsure. “I will take you as Queen or as beggar, at your highest of highs and lowest of lows.”

“I will climb mountains with you and sit with you at the bottom of trenches.” Saga replied, just as hushed. “In sickness and in health, until death do we part. I will love you forevermore.” She remembered her wedding vows, of course, but she was surprised Veda did. She tilted her head. “Do you take me as your wife?”

Veda stepped towards her, more sure than anything that had happened today. They carefully linked hands, but Saga saw her eyes flicker to her throat. For once brief moment of fear, she worried Veda would pull away and stare at them, fearful of what they meant, what she missed. But she sent Saga a smile, and then she knew it would be okay. They would need to negotiate their relationship again and again, and Saga had a feeling it wouldn’t be easy, but-

“I do.” Veda whispered, leaning closer. “Do you take me as your wife?”

Always. “I do.”

: : :

_She sat upon the throne with practiced grace. The seat had been empty for days, yet the title of Queen had been hers the moment her father ceased breathing. She glanced to her left, where Veda took her place. Queen Consort Veda of Oftola. She looked beautiful, dressed in traditional Oftolian clothing, adorned with Balanish jewels._

_She faced forward again, looking at the small group of people in front of her. Soon, she was to address Oftola as a whole and they were to give the final judgement. Should they accept her as Queen, her wife as Queen Consort, the cold ring of metal would be hers._

_If they were to not, well. The fight would continue on. But in the moments before the decision was made, she shut her eyes and let the music that filled the halls resonate inside her. She and her wife stepped forward to the balcony that overlooked the square. People stared up at them, and she looked over the crowd._

_It started slowly. A single person clapped, and then another, and more. Cheers were added, music joined them, voices rose above them all. Saga could see Veda smile, shy for a woman who wielded laughter like a weapon. Saga withheld her own smile and tilted her head up, just as a sun ray broke from the clouds and into her eyes._

_The reign of Saga had begun._


End file.
